r 



HUTCHINSON'S 



RECITATIONS 

AND 

DIALOGUES, 




RODOLPME HirrCHlNSON 



i 




EoDOLPHE Hutchinson. 



HUTCHINSON'S ORIGINAL 

RECITATIONS, SPEECHES, 
AND DIALOGUES. 

COMPRISES 



FORTY-NINE NEW SELECTIONS, IN PROSE AND VERSE 
SERIOUS, COMIC, AND PATHETIC ; TOGETHER WITH A 
VARIETY OF VERY LAUGHABLE NUMBERS IN 
FRENCH, GERMAN, IRISH, NEGRO AND 
YANKEE DIALECTS, EXPRESSLY 
ADAPTED FOR THE PLAT- 
FORM AND THE STAGE. 



BY 

RODOLPHE HUTCHINSON. 



Copyright, 1907, by 
RoDOLPHE Hutchinson. 



RODOLPHE HUTCHINSON. 

Author and Publisher, 
289 Warben Street, Brooklyn, New York. 



^ 



^'"'"nK" 



UBRABY of OOMSifJESS] 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 26 i90r 

Oopyrigni tntry 

xxc. no, i 
3/27 




CL 



i 




^ 



2)e&icatfon. 



Ubis IDoIume is IRespectfuIIi? S)et»fcate& to 

/IDs Mife, 

flDaria alien ^Burnett Ibutcbtnson, 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

Life Sketch of the Author 7 

Introductory Eemarks— Ancient and Modern Schools 

of Oratory, Etc 11 

Thoughts on Creation 17 

A Living Tomb—Poem, serious 19 

Bobby's Lesson in Arithmetic— Ventriloquist 20 

Brudder Johnson's Lecture on the North Pole — With 

Illustrated Pictures 22 

The Little Old High-Chair— Descriptive poem, serious. 27 

Uncle Sam Putnam's Fourth of July Oration 32 

Brutus and Casius— Dialogue, Negro burlesque 33 

The Railroad of Life — Speech of a young College 

Student 35 

A Mother to Her Son— Poem 37 

How Lunkenheimer Set his Poetry to Music— Ger- 
man dialect 38 

Wanted, a Girl with References— Dialogue for five 

females 40 

I'm Going Home to Die— Poem, return of the Irish 

emigrant 52 

The Frenchman and the Hare's Eggs— Dialect, humor- 
ous 54: 

The Knights of the Press— Extract from Jimmy Far- 
ley, news-boy 60 

Little Socks of Wicklow Farm— Poem, serious 62 

Uncle Sampson at Coney Island— Yankee dialect 66 

Tim Murphy's Goat— Dialect, very funny 68 

Dewey at Manilla Bay 71 

The Professor— Romantic dialogue for two characters. 71 
The Link of Friendship— The graphic story of Damon 

and Pythias 80 



INDEX. 

PAGE 

The Witch— Poem, burlesque. 85 

The German Philosopher— Address of Louis Schumann 86 

The Student and his Boast— Humorous short story — 88 

Sandy Mac Allister's Dream— Humorous 92 

The Song of the Fly— Poem, humorous 97 

Patrick Miles and the Plum-duff— Dialect 98 

The Circuit Preacher— Poem, serious 101 

Before Marriage— Dialogue for two characters 103 

After Marriage— Dialogue for two characters 105 

Kuby Jones' Lecture on Matrimony 108 

The Girl Tramp— Poem, serious Ill 

The Bald-headed Tyrant— Poem, comic 113 

Doctor Quack— Poem, comic 115 

Joe Jefferson and the Bed-post — For Interlocutor and 

two end men 117 

The P. O. Canary— From Jimmy Farley 120 

How the Drummer Enjoyed his First Kabbit— Humor- 
ous short story 121 

Paddy Miles from Cork— Dialect, funny 124 

Lunkenheimer and his Dog— German dialect 128 

Deserted— Poem, serious 129 

Meg Merrilies— From Guy Mannering. Sir Walter Scott. 130 

The Summer Shower— Poem, serious 131 

Our Yalliant Dead— Poem, serious 133 

The Land of Burns— Poem, serious 133 

Pompey the Slave— Poem, serious 135 

Walulu and Olita— Poem, Indian love story 137 

The Three Little Mad-caps— Poem for All Hallow E'en. 141 

The Poor Workingman— Poem, serious 143 

Jimmy Farley and his Typewriter 144 

How MacPherson O'Flaherty Joined the Lodge— Dia- 
lect, comic 146 

The Keystone State— Poem, serious 148 

Scene from "Our Nan"— From the author's play of 

that name 150 



LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOE. 

The author of these selections, whose portrait 
appears as the frontispiece of this book, was born 
at La Grange, near Bustleton, Pennsylvania, Au- 
gust 21, 1847. At the early age of fourteen years 
he was an apprentice in the designing and engrav- 
ing department of the Lackawanna Calico Print 
Works, located at Frankford, Philadelphia. 

The advent of the War of the Rebellion, which 
eventually closed the factory doors, caused him, 
later on, to seek for a vocation which he thought 
might be more in keeping with his tastes and de- 
sires. 

The love for literature, composition, and the 
drama had been acquired, and already the ambi- 
tious youth had gained some reputation as a local 
writer and amateur actor. The glare of the foot- 
lights and sock and buskin now had an infatuation 
for him which he found impossible to resist, and 
after many discouragements and flat refusals from 
managers he at length made his first professional 
appearance upon the stage at the American Thea- 
ter, at Eighth and Walnut streets, Philadelphia, 
then under the management of Fox & Earnshaw. 
Miss Kate Fisher was the star of the occasion, and 

7 



8 LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

the part enacted by the young aspirant for dra- 
matic honors was that of ambassador, in "The Cat- 
aract of the Ganges/^ It was at this house that 
Charles Barras, who was about presenting "The 
Black Crook/' gave him his first dramatic impulse 
in the profession, by casting him for the important 
part of Eodolphe, It was during this spectacular 
production that this theater was totally de- 
stroyed by fire, and the unfortunate young actor 
was again compelled to seek for employment else- 
where. 

Following this calamity, Mr. Hutchinson retired 
temporarily from the stage, again sought his former 
occupation, and eventually finished the term of his 
apprenticeship at the American Print Works, Fall 
Eiver. The sedentary habits required by this servi- 
tude were not congenial to his tastes, and shortly 
afterward he was a sojourner on the Pacific Slope, 
in search of fame and fortune. 

On his return to Philadelphia, at the age of 23 
years, his efforts to connect himself with the liter- 
ary and theatrical circles were marked and enthusi- 
astic ; plays, dramatic correspondence, and various 
writings for local papers were indulged in, togeth- 
er with platform- entertainments and theatrical pro- 
ductions, in which he figured prominently, and fre- 
quently in a managerial capacity. 

We find him subsequently filling successful en- 
gagements in the leading theaters of his native 
city, among which may be mentioned the Arch 
Street Theater, under the management of Mrs. John 



LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 9 

Drew, and the Ninth and Arch Street Theater, well 
known as Wood's Museum, where he played for 
two seasons. Having received a tempting offer 
from the Vegiard Bros., he traveled in New Jersey, 
New York, and the New England States, enacting 
leading parts in the production of military dramas 
for the Grand Army of the Republic. 

In the years that followed Mr. Hutchinson de- 
voted himself chiefly to his vocation as a skilled 
tradesman, utilizing his spare moments in literary 
work, dramatic readings, and the production of his 
plays in various sections of the country. 

Some of his plays are as follows : "Strife, or the 
Female Spy,'^ a military drama of the Civil War; 
^^ Ostler Joe,/' from the poem of that name by Geo. 
R. Sims; "The Fire King,'' written in the interest 
of the fire department; "Galled Down," high and 
low life in New York ; "Our Nan," a spirited Yan- 
kee comedy; "Down in Dixie," a drama of the 
South; and many other full acting plays. 

His success as an actor and entertainer was prob- 
ably due to his advantages of natural ability and 
early training from such recognized masters as 
Professor Shoemaker, founder of the School of Ora- 
tory, and Madame White, of Girard College^ both 
of Philadelphia; also the practical results to be de- 
rived from the instruction of such lights of the dra- 
matic art as Mr. J. B. Roberts, tragedian, Mrs. John 
Drew, Manager Hahn, Charles P. Morton, and oth- 
ers, besides his personal relations with such stars 
as Edwin Forrest, E, L. Davenport, John MacCul- 



10 LIFE SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 

lough, and other great exponents of the stage art, 
upon whom the curtain has descended forever. 

Mr. Hutchinson has for many years been a critic 
for dramatic papers, and was latterly a correspon- 
dent of the New York Dramatic Mirror. 

Although his work was suddenly cut short four 
years ago by total blindness, he has found a strong 
friend in the typewriter, and hopes by this means 
to place a portion, at least, of his four hundred 
pounds of unpublished literary matter upon the 
market. 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS 

The power of oratory is manifestly the most ex- 
alted of all accomplishments. Probably no races 
of people have done more to bring this beautiful 
art to a high standard of excellence and practical 
usefulness than the Greeks and Romans. Their 
teachings, as recorded in their works, afford the 
best examples for the academies of modern times. 
In the singleness of their purpose they sought per- 
fection, and to this end they devoted their best ener- 
gies and lives. The entire field of oratory was not 
grasped, let alone thought of, by a single master, 
in respect to the training of pupils, in the ancient 
school. The several parts of speech, which may be 
said to have an intimate relation with the power of 
vocal delivery, were divided and sub-divided, at 
the head of which divisions or sub-divisions a mas- 
ter of recognized ability ruled with an inexorable 
law. One devoted his entire attention to time, oth- 
ers to pitch, emphasis, or articulation, as the indi- 
vidual case might be, which system may be cited 
as one affording the best practical results in the 
training of pupils. 

Under a system so exacting and comprehensive, 

in connection with the healthful outdoor sports and 

XI 



12 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

strenuous physical exercises then in vogue, it is not 
difficult to conceive of the lasting benefits and de- 
gree of excellence to be secured. 

Foremost among all was Demosthenes. From an 
humble beginning he became the greatest orator 
of his time. Being of lowly birth, delicate consti- 
tution, and with an impediment of speech, his 
chances of becoming great would appear almost 
hopeless. By persistent effort and earnestness of 
purpose he finally mounted to the highest pinnacle 
of fame. He became vigorous by the use of judi- 
cious physical* exercises. His imperfection of speech 
he overcame by holding pebbles in his mouth and 
uttering his inspired sentiments while rapidly walk- 
ing up a steep hill. To strengthen his voice and im- 
prove his breathing powers, he had recourse to the 
shores of the ocean, where he is pictured declaiming 
to the waves. There are many others who might 
be cited as possessing the oratorical gift in a 
marked degree, but Demosthenes is the first, from, 
the fact that he was, to a great extent, the architect 
of his own fortunes* and greatness, and is held up 
as a forcible example to the aspiring thousands in 
the field of oratory. 

We find in the modern school many conditions 
which are, in most respects, paramount with those 
of the ancients. Every nation has its orators, who, 
in accordance with their exceptional gifts of elo- 
quence, have risen to- positions of honor, and be- 
come distinguished rulers in affairs of government, 
as well as the high, offices and sacred livings of the 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 13 

churcH. If the qualities of true eloquence have 
been so well pronounced under the various heads, 
so have they been, as well, upon the platform and 
the stage. Of the two latter we would speak more 
particularly in this article, as they may have a more 
intimate bearing on the matter contained in this 
volume. 

As regards dramatic representations, they would 
appear quite as necessary to the comfort and hap- 
piness of mankind as a desire for food, or the stern 
pursuits of business life. That they have taken 
place in past centuries, to some extent, among all 
races of people who enjoyed a certain amount of 
intelligence, and might be considered as moving 
in a sphere above that of savagery, is manifest to 
the most superficial observer. The spectacles of 
fallen empire and dominion, the gleaming phan- 
toms, or the wonderful city of the unknown, crum- 
bled walls and broken columns of the cities of the 
plains, give positive evidence of the theater and the 
amphitheater. Many of the early writers have re- 
corded the advent of the player, among which may 
be mentioned Herodotus, Valerius Maximus, and 
the sacred TVT?iter, Josephus. 

The most effective impulse toward a thorough 
system of dramatic representation is said to have 
been given by an order of monks, who sought by 
this means to impress more forcibly upon the minds 
of their followers certain portions of the Holy 
Scriptures. 

Of the modern stage, such exponents of the dra- 



14 INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

matic art as Cook, Kean, Kemble, Siddons, Ma- 
cready, and latterly, Sir Henry Irving, have fully 
established the prestige of true oratory as well as 
the living personalities of the creative geniuses 
which they represented. 

As the curtain of the past rolls up before us^ re- 
vealing in an intensified formi the mimic world, 
we sit enraptured as we behold the living presences 
and hear the resonant voices of Booth, Barrett, For- 
rest, MacCullough, Cushman, and a score of others 
whose names have gone down to posterity as the 
brightest gems in the tiara of oratorical gifts* 

We hear the sweet strains of a song, and we feel 
that the voice that gives it breath has a soul aside 
from a spiritual soul. We hear the sweet tones of 
a violin, and we feel that, too, has a soul. A glance 
within the instrument reveals to us the fact that it 
is empty. 'Tis the hand of the master alone that 
gives it being — ^he has reached the soul of his in- 
strument. 

Might not the same be said of oratory? The 
printed page is but a void, an emptiness. The genius 
gives it life, and, as one brought from the dead, he 
rises in his strength and majesty, the embodiment 
of the poet's conception. 

Though it be reserved for but few to reach the 
topmost round of excellence, it should be consid- 
ered no barrier in the way of the youthful aspirant 
for oratorical laurels. 

The platform, too, has its advantages, and offers a 
broad field of endeavor for the ambitious. Natural 



INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 15 

qualities, although of considerable worth, without 
persistent effort would be of little avail. It is said 
of the English actor, David Garrick, that it was cus- 
tomary with him to single out certain sentences of 
the part he was about to represent, and utter them 
in a loud voice two or three hundred times, if he 
thought necessary, until the utterance satisfied him 
that the emphasis, inflection, or expression, was 
what he desired. It is safe to say that his delivery of 
those sentences electrified the house. It is quite 
clear from various accounts that no artist of his 
day knew more thoroughly the advantage to be de- 
rived from practice and strict attention to the mi- 
nutiae of his profession than Sir Henry Irving. 

The power of oratory is not only useful to the 
divine, the statesman, and the actor, but it is valu- 
able to its possessor in private, for it provides him 
with more agreeable and eflftcient conversational 
powers, and, if he so desires, places him in an au- 
thoritative and honorable position among his fel- 
low-men. 



Hutchinson's Recitations, Speeches 
and Dialogues. 



THOUGHTS ON CREATION. 

We behold in the universe, everywhere about us, 
the creation of God. It is not the mighty heavens, 
studded with innumerable planets and stars, nor 
yet the sun nor moon, rolling in magnificent splen- 
dor in the blue expanse, that reveal the magnitude 
of the world in which we dwell and owe our tem- 
poral being. The infinitesimal, as well, has its won- 
derful developments of living creatures^ — in them 
we behold the work of omnipotence, which is per- 
fection. 

The globe itself upon which we dwell, with its 
towering mountains, its immense bodies of water, 
its mighty forests, and millions of tons of weight 
of rocks, ores, and earth, and loaded with its liv- 
ing masses of humanity, and animals, not only 
commands our admiration of the magnitude and 
wonders of creation, but impresses us with a deep 
sense of our insignificance as mortal creatures, and 

17 



18 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

the greatness of that God to whose keeping all 
things are destined. 

We note the precision with which all things move 
in the works of the Creator^ and we marvel at their 
exactitude; so in all the wonderful achievements 
of God we are reminded of this same unvarying 
condition of things. The greatest of all animate 
creations in this wonderful kingdom is that of man. 
The rocks of the earth give sufficient evidence that 
he came not until the beautiful world that he was 
to inhabit had been fully prepared for him. From 
a ponderous, molten mass, rolling in darkness, it 
became a thing of beauty and a joy forever. With 
light came warmth, and life, and from the bosom, 
of the earth grew forth its delightful verdure. 
Mighty trees, with their congenial shade, flowering 
plants and vines, laden with fragrant bloom and 
mellow fruits, w^ere everywhere in abundance. A 
delightful verdure carpeted the earth. The song 
of birds and the hum of insect life had begun. 
Fishes sported in the deep, and the world became 
inhabited with all the creatures of God's handi- 
work. 

Foremost of all was man. In form and bearing 
he was infinitely above all others, for he walked 
upright, and had a dignified bearing and the power 
of speech. He was provided with wisdom and pow- 
er that he might reign over all other subjects as 
lord and master in the kingdom that God had given 
him. Who, then, would live without God in the 
world? 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 19 



A LIVING TOMB. 

A proud and angry father stood 

Beside his weeping child, 
And cursed the hour that gave her breath, 

With looks of frenzy wild; 
His tall form quivered as he spoke, 

His arm smote in the air, 
While she, with hands uplifted, knelt 

And prayed for mercy there. 

'^And dost thou ask for mercy, child, 

Where thou shouldst be accursed; 
WTiose fair fame lost in pools of crime, 

Of virtue's cause the worst? 
False one, this night must be thy last! 

This night, as loud bells chime. 
Behold thy fate! A living tomb 

Atones thy bitter crime!'' 

And as he spoke he thrust her in 

Between the solid wall, 
Nor heeded not her sobs and cries, 

That wild and dismal fall : 
"O father, hear ! O hear my word ! 

Do not commit this deed, 
But mercy show an erring child ! 

O say that I am freed !" 



20 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 

He said no word, but pointed there, 

And straiglit the Mason stood, 
With trembling limb and hollow eye, 

And say whatever she would, 
No ray of hope, for one so fair, 

Such cruel death to save; 
And soon the opening 'gan to close 

And seal the living grave. 

With armed hand stood ready by 

This m-an of stony heart. 
Till every mark and crevice there 

Did nothing now impart. 
And to this day no clue is found 

Of him this deed has done, 
Nor her whose blooming life cut off, 

A mystery ^neath the sun. 



BOBBY'S LESSON IN ARITHMETIC. 

For the Ventriloquist. 

Professor — Bobby, I am going to give you an easy 
lesson in arithmetic, and I want you to answer me 
distinctly and correctly. Do you understand? 

Bohli/ — Yes, sir-ee. 

Professor — Suppose you had an apple 

Bohhy — I ain't got no apple. 

Professor — Certainly not ! This is simply a les- 
son in arithmetic. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 21 

Bohhy — I thought it was an apple. 

Professor — You do not understand, Bobby. Sup- 
pose you had an apple, and 

Bohhy — Is it a yaller apple? 

Professor — No, no! Will you listen to me, 
Bobby? 

Bohhy — Yes, sir-ee. 

Professor — Suppose you had 

Bohhy — Is it a red apple? 

Professor — We are only supposing a ease. No 
more interruptions, if you please. 

Bohhi/ — All right. Boss. 

Professor — Suppose you had an apple, and you 
should cut this apple into four equal parts> or 
pieces, then place one of these pieces upon a shelf, 
and divide the remainder of them among your 
friends, how many pieces would you have left? 

Bohbp — I wouldn't do it that way. 

Professor — How would you do it, Bobby? 

Bohhy — I'd eat the three pieces. 

Professor — Oh, I see ! You would eat them, would 
you, Bobby? 

Bohhy — Yes, sir-ee. 

Professor — Well, then, for the sake of example, 
say that you have eaten the three pieces. How many 
would you have left? 

Bobby — Is de other one on de shelf yet? 

Professor — Certainly, Bobby. How many would 
be left? 

Bobby — There wouldn't be none left. Boss. I'd 
grab it an' run. 



22 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

BEUDDER JOHNSON'S LEOTUEE ON THE 

NORTH POLE, WITH ILLUSTRATED 

PICTURES. 

Costume — Long black coat, checked pantaloons, red 
vest, old silk hat, gray wig, and old shoes. 

Properties — Small table, and large folio, with pic- 
ture on back representing a negro organ-grind- 
er, with monkey, climbing the North Pole. 

Brudders and Sistahs^ Ladies and Gen^men : 

I feel dat it am not necessary fo' me to express 
myself on dis occasion dat I am glad I^se wid yo' 
dis ebenin', kase I know dat you hab received my 
telegraph in answer to yo' pressin' invitation to 
deliver my famous lecter, de Norf Pole, on dis mo- 
menstrous occasion. 

By de way o' makin' de subject mo' forcible to 
yo' clouded intellects I hab lit ^pon de plan o' illus- 
teratin' pictahs, painted specially fo' me, at de ex- 
orbitant price o' sixty-two an' a half cents, from 
de grabitation box. 

Befo' I discourse my lecter I wish to impress 
'pon yo' min's dat dere am free kin's ob congre- 
gashuns dat I don't like. Dey am a walkin' con- 
gregashun, a talkin' congregashun, an' a snoozin' 
congregashun. 

I hope dat de little chillun on de back seats won't 
chew terbacker an' spit peanut shells on de flo', 
kase it ain't 'spectible. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 23 

De las' time I delibered a lecter in dm hall I had 
de misfortune to burst a blood ligature in my throat. 
I want yo' all, ladies an' gen'men, to set yo' min's 
an' hearts to rest to-night, kase de Norf Pole am 
a col' subject to handle, an' dere ain't no ligatures 
to be bursted on dis occashun. 

De Norf Pole am long bin a bone o' diseonten- 
shun to de wisest haids in de worl'. Dere was 
Franklin Benjamin, Horace Greesey, an' Hum- 
phrey Gravy, berry wise men, ladies an' gen'men, 
berry wise men, dat built big ships fo' de purpose 
o' explorizations in de Polah seas. 

Did dey bring de Norf Pole back wid dem? Dey 
did not, ladies an' gen'men. Eberyone o' yo' know 
as well as I do dat not one o' dem ever brought 
dat pole back wid dem, behin' dar big ships> in de 
New York Harbor. 

Dey nebber asked de advice o' Brudder Johnson, 
but went straight on over hills an' mountains o' 
snow an' ice to dar disfatisfaction. 

Dar idees were like hot flapjacks, in a hot pan, in 
a hot kitchen, on a hot day ,in de month of July. 

Dey didn't bring de pole back wid dem kase dey 
wus on de wrong track. 

Now, I'se gwine to show yo' to-night dat de proof 
o' de possum am de eatin' o' it, an' de only way to 
git de Norf Pole am to ketch de fish. 

Keep yo' eyes peeled on de pictahs as dey pass 
befo' yo' 'stonished visions. Yo' kin see dem bet- 
tah dan I can, kase de Lord made me farsighted, 



24 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

an^ dat's de reason dat I am able to discourse to 
yo' to-night. 

Way back in de good ole days dar was a b'uti- 
ful plantation. Dis yar plantation was so b'utiful 
dat yaller roses looked red in de sunlight. 

De fust pictah shows dis lubly plantation. {Ew- 
hihits a blank page over front of table. ) You behor 
to de left o' de pictah de green lawn, de flowers, 
an' de mighty mountains in de distance, wid de sun 
jes' peepin' ovah de top o' dem. De trees am so real 
dat yo' can heah de birds singin' in de branches. 
Far away to de right o' de pictah yo' see de high 
rocks, an' de ocean shinin' like silver in de sun- 
light. 

Dar lived on dis plantation at dis time an ole man 
who had two sons, John Jacob an' Cornelius Aster. 
One day de ole man said to dese boys, "Now, look 
here, yo' John Jacob an' Cornelius Aster, I want 
yo' to go straight to school to-day, like good little 
chillun. Don't play any mo' hookies, an' don't 
yo' bring any mo' fish home in yo' pockets. Min' 
what I tell yo' boys. By an' by yo' grow up to be 
men, an' yo' won't know yo' haids from, pumpkins 
an' cabbages." 

When de ole man was emptyin' de swill barrel, 
Cornelius Aster put a big fish-line under his jacket, 
an' away de boys went, han' in han' together, trab- 
blin' ovah de lawn. By an' by dey come to a big 
thicket, an' Cornelius Aster saw a nice fish-pole. He 
took out his jack-knife an' began to cut down de 
pole. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 25 

Den John Jacob spoke up an' say : 

"Look heah, yo' Cornelius Aster, de ole man toP 
yo^ not to cut down any mo' flsh-poles, an' heah. 
yo' is cuttin' down a pole an' gwine a-flshin'. 'T'ain't 
right, Cornelius Aster, 'faint right !" 

Den Cornelius Aster spoke up, an' say : "Min' yo' 
own bisness, John Jacob ! I know what I'm doin'. 
I'se de fust bo'n on dis plantation, an' I cut down 
all the fish-poles I like." 

By an' by de boys got a-fightin', an' Cornelius 
Aster struck John Jacob down to de earth wid de 
fish-pole. 

Wen de wicked boy saw what he hed done, an' 
dat John Jacob didn't get up no mo', he got fright- 
ened, an' blamed de fish-pole fo' killin' him. 

De next pictah, as yo' see, shows de bad boy stand- 
in' ovah John Jacob wid de pole in his han'. 

He thought dat he would hide dat wicked pole 
where no one would fin' it. Heah you behold him 
flyin' ovah de lawn wid de fish-pole on his shoulder, 
t'ward de high rocks an' mighty ocean. De pictah 
on dis sheet shows him standin' on de rocks, throw- 
in' de pole far out inter de water. Would yo' 
b'lieve it, ladies an' gen'men, dat pole stuck in de 
mud, wid de top o' it stickin' out o' the water. 

By an' by de heavens became obercast, an' it be- 
gan to thundah an' lightnin'. Cornelius Aster got 
skeert an' ran straight home to his faddah. De 
vengeance o' de Lord came down on dis b'utiful 
plantation. Frum a lubly garden it became worse 



26 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

den a coon holler in de month o' January. De 
sun went behin' de clouds an' shine dar no mo'. De 
win's blew col', an' de snow an' de ice began to 
fall. De mighty icebergs trabbled on de bosom o' 
de vasty, bringin' wid dem de walruses an' de Polah 
b'ars; an' de whol' country, after many days, be- 
cum de Ahtic winter. De fish-pole dat Cornelius 
Aster had thrown inter de waters o' de ocean 
growed an' growed until it becum a mighty pole o' 
ice reachin' to de heabens. 

De ole man died o' a broken heart fo' de loss 
o' John Jacob, an' Cornelius choke hisse'f to de'th 
wid a fish-bone. 

De nex' pictah shows de change o' country aftah 
de vengeance o' de Lord hed cum down 'pon it. 

One day dar was a great hummin', hissin' an' 
buzzin' in de air, an' de wonderful sea-sarpint 
'peared 'pon de bosom o' de vasty deep. 

T'ink o' it, ladies an' gen'men ! Dat awful mon- 
ster, fo'teen miles in length, wid fiery eyes an' dis- 
tended jaws, twistin' its mighty body through de 
waters like a steamboat, an' lashin' dem to fury 
wid its tail. As soon as dat sarpint saw dat pole he 
made a dive, an' dat mighty pole o' ice slipped down 
his t'roat like a ripe persimmon on a frosty mornin'. 

Since we hab got to de sarpint, my lecter is at 
an end. Yo' will understan' as well as I do dat 
de only way to git de Norf Pole is to ketch de fish. 

De las' pictah in de book is de sea-sarpint. (Dis- 
covers the fact that he had ieen exhibiting blank 
pictures. Shows illustration on the back.) Dat 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 27 

artist dun gone an' paint de pictaKs on de wrong 
side o' de pictah book. 



THE LITTLE OLD HIGH-CHAIE. 

Way dowa in Kansas City, not many months ago, 
From an underground apartment of a dingy, shabby 

row, 
The red flag of an auctioneer was streaming on the 

wind, 
With letters bold and showy, just of the taking 

kind. 
And as the time was heavy on both our hands that 

day, 
Walking up and down the street, like children out 

at play, 
I said, "Old Pard, let's take a peep into the auction 

room, 
Just by way of killing time until the afternoon." 
My partner whispered something low of fools that 

go it blind, 
And wouldn,'t budge an inch ; and then — I left my 

pard behind. 

I stood within that auction-room, as big as life that 

day, 
Though musty as a sepulchre, with groaning shelves 

of clay. 



28 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

The candles gave sufl&cient light to show the hoary 
head 

Of the aged, shrivelled auctioneer, who perched him- 
self overhead. 

He looked at me, I looked at himi with bold, un- 
flinching eye. 

He said, "Don^t block the doorway, please ! Look 
round; you'll surely buy.'^ 

I noted well the things I saw, from floor to grimy 

ceiling. 
And swept my gaze from face to face until my head 

seemed reeling. 
At length, down in his little box, the old man took 

his station. 
And hawked his wares in such a voice, you'd think, 

for all the nation. 
Utensils, knives, forks, and spoons, furniture, mats, 

and pictures. 
Went with a crash, one and all, down from the 

flimsy fixtures. 

At last, from out a corner, 'mong rubbish worse for 
wear. 

The auctioneer drew quickly forth a little old high- 
chair. 

'Twas musty, battered, worn with age, not worth a 
picayune, 

Yet full of meaning, boys, I guess that ain't for- 
gotten soon. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 29 

He held it to the feeble light. "A baby's chair/' he 

said. 
His voice was choked, he put it down, then turned 

away his head. 
I thought him cold and formal, a man of sordid 

mind, 
With gold and silver for his god, distrust for all 

mankind ; 
But since I'd seen a tear-drop a-shining in his eye, 
I knew the man was human, and not afraid to cry. 

It took me back to childhood's days> back to the 
old gray farm 

Among New England's quiet hills, that held life's 
sweetest charm; 

For well I knew there was a place where I had 
played so oft, 

A chair like that was stored above, way up in moth- 
er's loft. 

The auctioneer turned round at length, and grasped 

the chair once more. 
This time he was in earnest, if he never was before. 
"My friends," said he, "you'll think it strange that 

worldly men like I, 
That at a moment such as this a tear should dim 

the eye. 
But facts are stubborn things, my friends, and tears 

a gift of God— 
They teach in life of better things, sometimes a 

chast'ning rod. 



so HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^^For just then to my mind there came a cHerub 
form of old, 

With eyes of heaven's purest blue, and hair of shin- 
ing gold. 

I seemed to see a baby form perched in the old high- 
chair, 

A loving mother at his side, with all a mother's care. 

It told of rattles, rings, and things that children 
love so well. 

Of joys forever hidden, no tongue or pen shall tell. 

The winter comes, our flower is dead, we've parted 
with our treasure^ 

Though Nature smiles for us once more, we find 
in her no pleasure. 

A thousand things unfold the past remembrance 
everywhere, 

But none shall reach the heart like this — the little, 
old high-chair." 

He said no more; a wail was heard, and straight 

from out the crowd 
A woman rashed with frantic mien, and cried in 

accents loud: 
"Oh, kind sir, as you loved your child, have mercy 

now on me ! 
I cannot part with baby's chair, though steeped in 

penury! 
Take all I have, my worldly goods — for none of 

them I care — 
But give me back my precious gift— my little old 

high-chair!'^ 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 31 

"I cannot, ma'am. You plead in vain/' he quickly- 
made reply, 

"For I am in honor bound to sell, or all our laws 
defy/' 

The sale went on, and dollar bids at once were 

quickly given, 
A price unheard for such a thing, until they reached 

to seven. 
The auctioneer, his mallet raised, prepared to strike 

the blow. 
"Quick, or you lose it now!'' he said. "Who will a 

dollar go?" 
"I will !" I cried. "The chair is mine, by all there 

is in heaven ! 
A dollar more I'll freely give, though it were thrice 

times seven!" 
The mallet crashed with sudden force upon the lit- 
tle stand, 
And at the counter soon I stood, the chair within 

my hand. 

And to the wretched creature in tattered garments 

clad, 
With features pinched with hunger, and face so wan 

and sad, 
I went with quickened footsteps, and said in kindly 

voice : 
"Here, madam, is your treasure; your heart with 

mine rejoice." 



32 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

The woman failed to make reply ; both grief and 
joy were there, 

And in her arms she bore away the little old high- 
chair. 



UNCLE SAM PUTNAM'S FOURTH OF JULY 

ORATION. 

Friends and Feller Citizens : 

Since you've called on me to say sumthin', here 
goes. I ain't much of what you call a speaker, so 
if you're expectin' more than plain fire-crackers 
from me on this accasion I'm afeared that you'll be 
disapp'inted. I never could git off them tarnal 
spin-wheels, Roman candles, and skyrockets of ora- 
tory, like sum fellers, but I know enough to keep 
my powder dry fur my own use. Wall, p'r'aps I'm 
like the rest of the farmers reound abeout Plun- 
ket's Corners, that git so full of Fourth of July 
they git charged with the spirit of patriotism, an' 
if they don't shoot it off in some sort of speech, as 
it should be done, are liable to cause serious dam- 
age to their innards by spontaneous combustion. 

Eben Hardscrabble used tew say that if you want 
tew keep out of the pig-throw don't say anything 
ag'in the farmers. That'si jest what I think abeout 
the Fourth of July. If yew want tew git intew a 
hornet's nest, blaze away ag'in Independence Day. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 33 

What we want, most of all, is tew carry aout the 
instructions of the heroes that fit fur our liberties. 
Them heroes, I am proud tew say, feller citizens, 
were the farmers of our kentry. They didn't kere 
tew be yoked up like oxen tew lords and dewkes, 
who wanted tew live on the fat of the land at our 
expense, so they threw deown their plows, pitch- 
forks, and rusty bayernets and made it so durned 
oncomfortable fur the red-coats that they were glad 
enough ter git out of the kentry. 

Yes, feller kentrymen, them's the martyrs that 
made the Fourth of July what it is tew-day. They 
took the American eagle from the clouds and sot it 
on a perch, and made it the proud bird of liberty. 

Ther's no use of crowin' till yew hev sumthin' 
ter crow abeout, and as we've got the pile to stand 
on, we'll whoop her up fur all that she is wuth. 
And now I say ring the bells with all yer might, 
and let the thunder of the cannons shake the nuts 
from the trees and rock the cradle of the deep. 



BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 

The effect of this dialogue may he considerably 
heightened hy the use of appropriate costumes. 

Brutus — Dat you hab wronged me does appear in 
dis. You hab condemned me kase I said you took 
de horseshoe from de door. 



34 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Cassiits — I nebber said you took de horseshoe 
from de door. 

Brutus — You bribed the oder man to say so. 

Casshis — I nebber bribed no man to say so. 

Brutus — Remember what you say. 'Tis recorded 
by de typewriter. I am not a man to be trifled with. 
You know de man dat hung it dar upon de handle 
ob de door did so for justice sake. 

Cassius — 'Tain't nothin' to do wid me. It ain't 
my luck ; I didn't take it down. 

Brutus — You did. 

Cassius — I did not. 

Brutus — Dar's but one cure for you — chastise- 
ment. 

Cassius — Chastisement? 

Brutus — Dat's what I said, Cassius. You are 
known to be no stranger to de henroost. 

Cassius — Your words cut sharper dan a razor's 
edge. 

Brutus — ^A man dat would filch a horseshoe from 
a door would not stop to steal a horse. 

Cassius — Dis to me! I can no longer hold toged- 
der. Come all de midnight prowlers ob de night, 
wid pistols, shotguns, open fire! Charge me wid 
heavy lead rather dan bring dis burnin' shame upon 
me ! Brutus is my friend no more. ( Offers razor. ) 
Dar is my razor, and heah my covered breast. Cut 
me deep if you like. (Offers horseshoe.) Dar is 
de horseshoe dat drapped from off your door. Take 
it, too, for I know dat when you hate it most thou 
lovest it better than ever thou lovest Cassius. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 85 

Brutus — Cassius, you are yoked wid a lamb. 
{Embraces Mm.) I respect de tears dat you hab 
shed, and your apology ; 'tis better so dan de peni- 
tentiary. 



THE EAILEOAD OF LIFE. 

Speech of a Young College Student. 

Ladies and Gentlemen : 

My remarks Hem ! My remarks this even- 
ing are — hem! — in — in re — relation to the — the 
journey of life. The subject, my friends, is — is one 
that — that — hem ! — I mean to which I — I have paid 
a — a good deal of — of attention. I — I have arrived 
— rived — hem ! — at — to the — definite conclusion 
that — that — we are all — that is — hem ! — as it were, 
more or less in — indefinitely embarked on — on the 
— the steam — steamboat — no! no! I mean the — the 
steam engine of — of existence, the — the railroad of 
life. From the — the first moment — moment of our 
— that is to say, our — our tempor — temporal being, 
we — we — what shall I say? Ah, yes! We realize 
the fact — the fact that we are — are animate — or, in 
— in other words — ^hem ! — ^mortal creatures, with — 
with the weight of — responsibility upon us, the suc- 
cess of — of our lives being largely due — largely due 
to our — our own efforts. 



Se HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

The railroad of life has — ^has its — its beauties — 
its beauties — as well as its pleas — I mean its annoy- 
ances, and — hem ! — its dangers. Sometimes its way 
is over a sort of — of level plane, with — with de-de- 
lightful groves, trailing — I mean trailing vines^ — 
on either side^ — on either side. 

Frightful yawn— hem ! — ing chasms, winding 
over — over shaky bridges crossed by running 
streams — streams that run, and — and shine — shine 
refulgent in the moonbeams of the setting sun. This 
picture, so^ — so glowingly — glowingly portrayed, is 
but one — but one of — of the many aspects presented 
to — to the — hem ! — the vision of the pass-passenger 
in his journey on the railroad of life. The other 
side of the picture, my friends, is^ — is^ — ^ah — less in- 
viting. There are — ah — collisions — collisions, and 
— and smashups — smashups that, that — how shall 
I put it? — ah, yes, that not only endanger the lives 
of — of the passengers^ — the passengers themselves, 
but — hem ! — but all that may be — may be connected 
with it — I mean them. 

I have not added these last few, may I say, pain- 
ful remarks, with — ^with a view of — of debarring 
any — any rational being within — within the sound 
of my voice from the attempt — hem ! — of — of mak- 
ing the attempt to undertake the journey on — on 
the railroad of life. No, heaven forbid! We — ^we 
are all embarked on — on the same train, and — and 
if we live— that is, if we live long enough, we are 
sure, very sure, to — to get there in the end. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 37 

A MOTHER TO HER SON. 

To Mothers everi/iohere these lines are respectfully 

dedicated. 

There is a love that's stronger 

Than links of shining gold ; 
'Tis sculptured in the rocks of time 

And treasured urns of old. 
Pure as the mirrored T\^aters 

From mountain brooklets run, 
It is the love that God has given 

A mother to her son. 

When war-clouds, dark, impending, 

Like ravens' wings alight, 
Erect, in stately manhood, 

He stands to guard the Right. 
Buckling round her youthful soldier 

The sword that battles won, 
For God and Country now appeals 

A mother to her son. 

Though dark his path, her light shall shine 

To guide him on his way, 
Where strong Temptations surge within, 

And scoffers drink and play. 
No matter what his faults have been. 

What good or bad he's done, 
You cannot break the links that bind 

A mother to her son. 



88 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^Mid gilded halls, where Vice and Crime 

Stalk with their loads of sin, 
Dash down the cup, O wretched youth ! 

Thy mother stands within. 
The sorrow on her fevered brow 

Speaks woe that's new begun, 
Yet stronger still the love that holds 

A mother to her son. 

Though prison walls engulf him, 

Immured in noisome den, 
Forever from God's earthly light. 

And from the haunts of men ; 
Though Fate's hard hand shall grip her boy, 

With chair or coil outspun, 
His innocence 'fore all shall hold 

A mother to her son. 

The last, though not the least, be said, 

When thorny paths be trod, 
With outstretched hands, and throbbing heart. 

She yields him to his Ood, 
Her life, the lone, sad sacrifice, 

When all is said and done; 
'Tis Death that breaks the tie that binds 

A mother to her son. 



HOW LUNKENHEIMEE SET HIS POETEY TO 

MUSIC. 
My name vos Jacob Lunkenheimer. I vos a poet. 
Everypody don't know id. I write some peautiful 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 39 

poetry de odder tay. Id vos sucergested to me py 
a cow dot vos scratching her hindt leg mit her front 
leg. It runs in dis vay : 

Dare vos a cow in our town, 
Her fleece vos vite as snow ; 

TJnd everyvare dot poor cow vent 
Dot fleece vos sure to go. 

Id vos such peautiful poetry dot all te girls are in 
loaf mit me. Veil, dot vos too pad, for te girls; I 
vos a married poet. 

Id vos such nice poetry dot I took id to vun uv 
dem poetry managers in Ni Yorak. 

"Vy, Mister Lunkenheimer,'' said he, ^^dot is such 
nice poetry vot I efer see, somedimes quick. Vy 
don'd you haf id set to moosic?'^ 

^^Vell/' I say, ^^I don'd know 'bond dot. How vill 
I haf id sot to moosic?'' 

"I tole you,'^ he say, pooty quick. "You get von 
leetle pox, so pig.'' 

"Yaw, Mynheer.'' 

"You fill dis leetle pox mit nice fresh eggs." 

"Yaw, Mynheer." 

"You put te poetry on te top of dese eggs." 

"Yaw, Mynheer." 

"Den you put dis pox mit te eggs und te poetry 
on top, in von piano. You sure got moosic. Of you 
don'd got moosic from te poetry, you sure got id 
from te eggs." 



40 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^^Vell/' I say, "I t'ank you very mootch. You ha'f 
von pig heart. I vill do dot right avay/' 

I vent py mine houses und ven I got dare I put te 
leetle pox, mit te eggs und poetry, in te piano, und 
lief dem dare four veeks. 

Vun tay Katrina ha'f coompany. She vos playin^ 
dot piano mit all her might, und te beoples vos 
happy, singin' ^^Vatch on te Rhine,'^ ven boom! 
pang! dot pox mit te eggs und poetry got spilled. 
For vun minit you couldn't preathe for te schmell 
ov te moosic vot came oud of dot piano. Te beoples 
dook a valk in te pack yard. Ven Katrina saw vot 
happened she got so mat mit herself dot she tore 
dot poetry to bieces und salt dot I ought to gone 
right avay to te poor houses. Te nexd dimes I ha'f 
poetry to set to moosic I pud id in under a hen. 



WANTED, A GIRL WITH REFERENCES. 

Dialogue for five Female Characters. 

CHARACTERS. 

Mrs. Van Buren Altson Lady of the house 

Matilda Hardscrabble^ 

Lately arrived from Vermont 
Bridget Murphy From County Kerry, Ireland 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 41 

Geokgiana Sunflower, 

Formerly of the best families 
Katrina Talented, but inexperienced 

Scene — Drawing-room or parlor; table, chairs, etc. 
Mrs. Van Buren Alt son discovered at table. 

Mrs. Altson \tdking up folded newspaper) — I 
have just received this morning's*paper. I am a lit- 
tle anxious to see how my advertisement for a ser- 
vant^ppears in print. ( Glancing over sheet. ) Yes, 
here it is. ^^Wanted, a girl with references. Bring 
papers. Inquire, after nine o'clock a.m., Mrs. Van 
Buren Altson, 29 Elmwood avenue, city.'' Now, I 
think that is just lovely. Dear me! I am having 
so much trouble with these servants. If it were 
not that their services are so very necessary, I be- 
lieve that I would dispense with them altogether. 
The last servant I employed had the audacity to use 
the parlor three nights a week for her company. 
Aside from this annoyance she destroyed more than 
the amount of her wages every week by the destruc- 
tion of glass and chinaware in the kitchen. I was 
obliged to get rid of her finally, as she almost gave 
me acsiege of nervous prostration by setting the 
house on fire with a kerosene lamp. ( Clock strikes 
nine, ) Nine o'clock ! I am almost sure there are 
some applicants in waiting. {Knock witliont.) Ah ! 
there is a knock now. Come in ! 

Enter Matilda. 
Matilda — Don't disturb yourself, ma'am. I am 



42 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

not a person, I assure yon, to stand on ceremony. 
I can mal^e myself at home most anywhere. You 
see, ma'am, I am a person of few words, and will 
come straight to the pint — I mean point. You will 
excuse me when I inform you that I am a stranger 
in town. In glancing over the paper this morning 
I saw your advertisement for a girl with references. 
As I, unfortunately, am compelled to labor for a 
living, and being out of a position, I thought that 
I would just step in and have a little talk with you. 
I presume that you want some one for general 
housework? 

Mrs. Alt son — Yes, I am in need of a capable per- 
son, more especially for work in the kitchen. 

Matilda — In the kitchen; yes, I understand, 
ma'am. Well, I have had experience in all sorts of 
kitchen work. Bless you! Aunt Jemima Hard- 
scrabble used to say that I was not only the best 
cook in Farm Center, Vermont, but the handiest 
critter — excuse me, ma'am, I mean creature — she 
ever knew in any department of woman's work. You 
see, ma'am, that I am entirely capable of attending 
to my duties, whatever they may be — sweep, scrub, 
wash, darn, and keep the run of things, and do what 
there is to be done about the house, in a sensible 
way. I am particularly fond of preparing such 
dishes as brown bread, hasty pudding, and baked 
beans, and if you have any old clothes to mend for 
the children, or stockings 

Mrs. Alt son — Excuse me for interrupting you, 
but I believe you said your name was 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 43 

Matilda — Matilda Hardscrabble, ma'am. Unfor- 
tunately, I have none of my cards with, me at the 
present time. Of course, the name is not as musical 
as some others that I could mention, yet it is useful 
from the fact that it is so expressive and easily 
remembered. The Christian name of Matilda has 
been in the family for a great many years. My 
mother's name was Matilda, so was my grandmoth- 
er's 



Mrs. Alt son — I understand, Miss Hardscrab- 
ble 

Matilda — That's right — Miss Hardscrabble. Of 
course I am not married. Let people say as they 
think proper on the subject of matrimony, for my 
part I am not favorable to early marriages. Plenty 
of time, in my opinion, at thirty, thirty-five, or even 
forty. 

Mrs. Alison — I was going to say, Miss Hardscrab- 
ble, that you being the first applicant 

Matilda — That's right; I'm from the country, I 
know, but I always make it a pint — I mean a point 
— of being first. Of course, a person can be posi- 
tively rude, but my education will not permit me 
to make any undue attempts at becoming conspicu- 
ously bad-mannered. When I came here this morn- 
ing there were two or three ahead of me, but I just 
put my right foot foremost, as I had a right to do, 
and got the handle of the door in advance. You 
seem to be a very agreeable person, and I believe 
that I would like the place, providing the salary 
was acceptable. 



44 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

M7's. Altson—Mj servants, Miss Hardscrabble, 
have never had occasion to complain about their 
salaries. 

Matilda — I am more than delighted to hear you 
say that, ma'am. 

Mrs. Alt son — Have you any references? 

Matilda ( in astonishment ) — ^Eef erences ! 

Mrs. Alt son — Yes. As you have informed me 
that you are a stranger in the city, it is hardly to 
be expected that you would be able to refer me to 
any friends or employers. I would be pleased to 
accept any written recommendations that you 
would be pleased to offer me. In fact, the tone of 
my advertisement^ as you have read^ is favorable 
to letters of introduction. You know what I mean? 

Matilda — I certainly do, ma'am. You are not 
willing to accept what I say as the truth. 

Mrs. Alt son — With all due respect to your feel- 
ings, Miss Hardscrabble, I am not. It is a mere 
form of business, that every person in the city who 
employs help is compelled to comply with. 

Matilda {sohhing) — Not another word, ma'am! 
I cannot endure it ! What is a poor girl to do, alone 
and friendless in this great city? You know the 
situation in which I am placed — that I am unable 
to comply with your demands. You abuse and tor- 
ment me ! 

Mrs. Alt son — I am very sorry, Miss Hardscrab- 
ble, very sorry, but 

Matilda — Do not approach me. You have placed 
me in a menial position and ground my heart to 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 45 

powder with your words of cruelty! I cannot 
breathe in this wretched atmosphere ! Farewell ! I 
will return to my native hills at once ! 

Ewit quickly^ L. 
Mrs. Altson — Poor deluded creature! I could 
not tolerate such a person for a moment. I doubt 
very much if she ever saw such a place as Farm 
Center, Vermont. It occurred to me that even her 
emotion was more of a mockery than a reality. 
{Knock without.) Dear me! Another applicant! 
Come in ! 

Enter Georgiana Sunflower^ L. 

Georgiana (fanning herself vigorously) — Is you 
de missis ob dis establishment? 

Mrs. Altson — I am Mrs. Van Buren Altson. What 
can I do for you? 

Georgiana — Jes' at present, missis, I dun know. 

Mrs. Altson — I suppose you have come in answer 
to my advertisement, for a situation. 

Georgiana — Dat's so, missis. 

Mrs. Altson — You are in want of a situation? 

Georgiana — I am, missis. You can write my 
name down as Miss Georgiana Sunflower, formerly 
of Virginia. {Hands her card.) Dat's my card. 
My last place was wid Mrs. Bonaparte Jones, on 
Fifth avenue, New York. 

Mrs. Altson — Was Mrs. Bonaparte Jones unkind 
to you that you have left her? 

Georgiana — I didn't leave her, missisi. 

Mrs. Altson — ^What was the trouble? 



46 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Georgiana — She left me. 

Mrs. Alt son — She discharged you? 

Georgiana — No, missis, I discharged myself. Dar 
was too many chillun in de family to suit my con- 
venience. I've got my pick in de best families. 

Mrs. Alt son — You have references, then — that is, 
you can refer me to your last place? 

Georgiana — Dat's right, missis. 

Mrs. Altson — Let me see — I have my book right 
here. Mrs. Bonaparte Jones, Fifth avenue, the 
number is 

Georgiana — ^What you say, missis? 

Mrs. Altson — The number, please. 

Georgiana — Beg pardon! I'se a little hard o' 
hearing in de right ear. 

Mrs. Altson — You cannot give me the number of 
the house, then? 

Georgiana— -For goodness sake, missis;, I dun for- 
got de number o' de house, shuah. I ^spect you find 
de number in de directory. 

Mrs. Alston — That will do, Miss Sunflower. 

Georgiana — T^ank you. My trunk is at de door. 

Mrs. Altson— Yon have brought your trunk with 
you? 

Georgiana — You needn't mind ; I can bring it in. 
My wages am fo' dollahs a week. I come yar wid 
de understanding dat I have fo' nights and free 
arternoons off, wid de right ob de parlor for my 
company. I would like to see my room. 

Mrs. Altson (aside) — What audacity! I shall 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 47 

not trouble you to bring in your trunk, Miss Sun- 
flower. 

Georgiana — ^Why not, missis? 

Mrs. Altson — You are not the person to suit me 
at all. 

Georgianor— Yon pay for de trunk? 

Mrs, Altson — Decidedly not. It could hardly be 
expected that I should pay for your trunk when 
you brought it here on your own responsibility. 

Georgiana — Don't mention it. I don't blame you. 
I'se sorry dat my terms don't suit you. My time is 
limited. I hab seberal pressin' engagements dis 
morning Good-bye, missis. 

Exit^ L,y hurriedly. 

Mrs. Altson — Oh, dear ! It is such a relief for me 
to know that she is gone. The audacity of these 
creatures is positively distressing. I wonder what 
sort of an annoyance I shall be obliged to put up 
with next. (Enter Eatrina^ L.) Ah! Here is a 
nice-looking German girl. I think that she will 
suit me. [Katrina approaches her very diffidently. ) 
You are a German girl, are you not? 

Eatrina — Yaw ! I come me from Yarminy. 

Mrs. Altson — I presume that you are looking for 
a situation. 

Eatrina — Yaw ! yaw ! I come to hire you oudt. 

Mrs. Altson — Hire me out? 

Eatrina — Dot so. Ein, swi, dri dimes. 

Mrs. Altson — How long have you been in the 
country? 



48 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Eatrina — Der koontry — how long? 

Airs. Alt son — Yes, how long? 

Katrina (throwing her hands apart) — So long. 

Mrs. Alt son — No, no! You do not understand. 
How high? 

Katrina (throwing her hands above her head) — 
So high. 

Mrs. Alt son — ^What is your name? 

Katrina — Katrina Modder. 

Mrs. Alt son — ^Well, then, Katrina, I want to 
know how long it is since you left the ship? 

Katrina — Yaw ! Ter ship^ — dis koontry — me vor- 
stay. If I lief here swi tays I bin in de koontry von 
veek. 

Mrs. Altson — Where do you live? 

Katrina — Lief? — me? Dot so; I lief me py der 
Morgue. 

Mrs. Alston — The Morgue! Oh, horror! 

Katrina — It vos dis vay. Mine fadder he vos 
here. He vent away oudt mit him's dorg und shoot- 
ed himself mit him's gun. He vos tead right avay. 

Mrs. Altson — Ah, I understand you, Katrina. 
Your father was killed by the accidental discharge 
of his gun. 

Katrina — ^Yaw, dot so. 

Mrs. Altson — What can you do? 

Katrina — I can do dis. (Dances and sings ^ at the 
conclusion of which a voice is heard without ^ calh 
ing, ^^ Katrina! Katrina F^) Dot's my mudder now. 
Coming, right avay, quick ! (Buns off quickly^ L.) 

Mrs. Alston — What a singular action ! ( Goes^ L.) 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 49 

Ah! Katrina in company with an old lady, who 
seems to be angry with her. {Noise and hang of 
door.) Thank goodness, they are gone. {Returns 
to table. ) I am afraid I am not going to be success- 
ful in securing a capable servant, after all. 

Enter Bridget Murphy^ unceremoniously. She 
carries a large market basket on Tier arm^ contain- 
ing a number of balls made of newspapers. 

Bridget — Are yees the lady of the house, mum? 

Mrs. Alt son — I have that honor. 

Bridget {placing her basket upon the stage and 
unfolding a newspaper^ which she carries in her 
hand) — You're the wan I'm luken fur. 

Mrs. Altson — What is the nature of your visit, 
madam? 

Bridget — Madam ! I loike that. Well, in the fust 
place, I'd have yees to know that my name's Bridget 
Murphy, from County Kerry, Ireland; as dacint a 
woman as ever trod shoe-leather. In the second 
place, I'm luken for work. 

Mrs. Altson — I see. Another applicant. 

Bridget — I don't know about that, my lady. 

Mrs. Altson — I would ask you to be as brief as 
possible, Mrs. Murphy. Time is pressing. 

Bridget — Is it? I have to ax yees a few questions 
before I consint to take the place. {Goes to her, 
unfolds paper y and points with her finger.) Are 
yees the author of thim loines? 

Mrs. Altson — That is my advertisement, madam. 

Bridget — It is? I'll rade it fur yees. "Wanted, 
a gurl v\dd references. Bring paphers." Do yee^ 



50 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

moind that? I've got the papliers. "Inquire of 
Mrs. Van Buren Altson, No. 29 Elmwood avenue, 
New York.'^ Yees are the instigator of thim wurds, 
mum? 

Mrs. Alison — I am. There is no necessity for any 
further repetition of the words. 

Bridget — It is not my intintion, ma'am, to incur 
your displeasure. I would have yees to know that 
I am particular about my engagements. I would 
loike to ax yees what wurk yees have fur a good 
girl? 

Mrs, Alison — I desire a competent girl in the 
kitchen. 

Bridget — That's right, mum — ^T\^an that can wash, 
iron, cook, and do anythin' there is to be done. I 
understand. 

Mrs. Alison — The person I employ must come 
well recommended. 

Bridget — I see, mum. Never moind, I've got the 
paphers. What wages are yees pay in' to a good gurl? 

Mrs. Alison — Two dollars per week and found. 

Bridget — Found dead, I suppose. Yees can put 
on another dollar a wake fur wan that can do any- 
thing, an' lave out the per. Commints are not 

Mrs. Alison — Madam, I 

Bridget — Commints are not nicessary, mum. 
What did yees discharge yer last gurl fur? 

Mrs. Alison — She broke all the china and glass- 
ware in the kitchen. 

Bridget — Did she? Poor thing! And you dis- 
charged her fur breakin' the china and glassware? 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 51 

Mrs, Alt son — I did. 

Bridget — Poor craythur ! And what else did she 
do? 

Mrs, Alison — Set the house on fire with a lamp. 

Bridget — Did she? Poor thing! And you dis- 
charged her fur burnin' the house wid a lamp? 

Mrs. Alt son — I certainly did. 

Bridget — You certainly did. Well, well! Will 
wunders ever sthop? Go on. What else did she 
do? 

Mrs. Alt son — She used the parlor for her com- 
pany almost every night of the week. 

Bridget — She did ! That w^as TVTong of her. She 
didn't know her place, mum. She should have con- 
tinted hersilf wid the kitchen, and left the parlor 
fur the lady of the house. I don't blame yees fur 
dischargin' her at all, at all. I've no inclination 
fur the parlor, mum. I'll take charge of the kitchen, 
do all the wurk, and lave my ordhers wid yees fur 
the butcher, the baker, an' the grocer. I'll see, mum, 
that yer china and glassware ain't broke, an' that 
yer house ain't burned down wid a lamp. All wid 
the understandin' that there be no interference on 
yer part wid me wurk. 

Mrs, Alison — Mrs. Murphy, I am sorry, but really 
I cannot allow this to go on any longer. Your ser- 
vices are positively not required. 

Bridget — What is that yees say, mum? 

Mrs, Alt son {rising in anger) — I shall have to 
ask you to leave my house at once. 

Bridget — Lave yer house, is it? It's mane of 



52 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

yees, mum. Shure, it's lucky I am, afther all, that 
I've no dalin's wid yees. Before I go I'll give yees 
all the paphers yees want. ( Opens her 'basket and 
takes out a paper hall. ) I'll have a game of base- 
ball wid yees. ( Throws missile at Mrs. Alt son ^ who 
dodges it and runs frantically/ ahout the room^ pur- 
sued hy Bridget^ who continues to pelt her until 
her supply is exhausted, in the midst of which melee 
the curtain descends.) 



FM GOING HOME TO DIE. 

Return of the Irish Emigrant. 

Some forty years ago, old friend, 

I crossed the ocean blue. 
And found a home in this fair land, 

And to it I've been true. 
I've been a soldier, fought and bled, 

And fell where patriots lie ; 
But now, there's no more need for me, 

I'm going home to die. 

1 recollect the day I left 

The isle so green and fair, 
The parting words of kindred, friends, 

And she with sunny hair; 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 53 

Our little cot among the hills, 

The river running by. 
Though none there are to greet me back, 

I'm going home to die. 

There's no one here to care for me 

Since Bertha is no more; 
Her little grave you will attend, 

And twine the ivy o'er. 
A father to her I have been, 

And leave her with a sigh ; 
You'll not forget the orphan child — 

I'm going home to die. 

My parents, brothers^ sisters* all — 

Whose grief and joy I shared, 
Eepose beneath old Ireland's sod, 

And gone, I trust, prepared. 
There is a churchyard on the hill, 

Where, side by side, they lie ; 
A space between, and that's for me. 

I'm going home to die. 

Farewell, dear friend, forever, now! 

Mourn not when I am gone. 
We both are old and palsied grown, 

We'll not be parted long. 
Though seas between our graves shall roll, 

We'll meet again on high. 
God bless and prosper you, old friend — 

I'm going home to die. 



54 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 



THE FRENCHMAN AND THE HARE'S LEGS. 

A 'Stylish Frenchman entered a fashionable res- 
taurant in New York^ and, seating himself at one 
of the tables, rang vigorously for a waiter. 

Not being served at once, on account of the rush 
of trade, he arose to his feet and shouted lustily : 

'^Gar§on ! gargon ! Come here, quick !'' 

A waiter hurried to his side. 

"Ah, gargon, you have come. I am so hongree! 
I have me no preakfast, vun veek.^' 

"What can I do for you, monsieur?" 

"Mootch, vare mootch ! Vat have you got?'' 

"Everything that is good for the stomach. Our 
bill of fare." 

"Aha ! ze leettle beel of fare, eh? Let me see how 
mootch." 

"Your order, please. Business is rushing." 

"T'ank you. I vill get some preakfast quicker." 

"Your order, please," reiterated the waiter, im- 
patiently. "Our bill of fare." 

"Oui ! oui ! Ze leetle beel of fare. Let me see vat 
you have got, gargon." 

The Frenchman glanced quickly over the little 
card, and returned, sharply : 

"How mootch you pay, huh?" 

"What you eat, monsieur. We are on the Euro- 
pean plan." 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 55 

^^ You do not comprehend, gargon. Vat you pay ze 
whole beel?'' 

The waiter gazed at his customer in amazement 
for a moment, and then blurted out, ^Tive dollars !^' 
thinking, perhaps, to get rid of him. To his aston- 
ishment the Frenchman rubbed his hand in delight 
and said. 

^^Vare weel. Sheap, sheap! Vare sheap!'' 

The waiter smiled very graciously and became 
even obsequious to the wants of his customer, 

"We shall be pleased to serve you with our best,'^ 
he said, with an extra flourish of his napkin across 
the table. 

"Ah, thanks, gargon. You do me vat you call 
mootch proud. Let me see, ze first vat I see on ze 
leetle beel is me— me — menu. Dat's it.'' 

The waiter drew back in astonishment. 

"Vat for you look like vun leetle pull like zat, 
huh? Mon Dieu ! I get me no preakfast dis veek !'' 

"I am sorry that we cannot accommodate you, 
monsieur. We have no such dish as ^menu.' '' 

"Vat ees zat you say, gargon? You have no such 
tish?'' 

"That is what I said, monsieur.'' 

"Den vat for you put heem on ze leetle beel? I 
pay my money, I must have ze whole beel. By gar, 
you sheat me !" 

To make matters alarming, the Frenchman arose 
angrily from the table and made an effort to grasp 
his hat and coat from the hanger. 

Fearful of losing such a good customer, the wait- 



56 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

er interfered with his hasty movements and begged 
him to be seated. 

"Do not be in a hurry/^ he said. "You do not 
understand. You are an intelligent man, monsieur. 
If you will stop and think for a moment you will 
realize that ^menu' is simply a name for the various 
dishes upon the list. Pray be seated.'^ 

"Oui, oui, gargon ! Zat ees so. I vould be vun 
pig dunce. Menu ! Zat ees right, sare.'^ 

With this our hungry Frenchman reseated him- 
self at the tableland once more took up the bill of 
fare. 

"Ze next vat I see on ze leetle beel ees^ — ^vat you 
call heem — tom — tom — tommy " 

"Tomato soup/' interrupted the waiter. 

"Oui, oui! Tomato soup; nice delecassey. You 
pring me vun tish of tommitoes soup.'' 

The waiter was hurrying away when he was 
brought to a halt by a shout from the Frenchman, 
who added : 

"Vun cup of coffee and a leetle pread and sheeze." 

The small order was soon placed before him. Af- 
ter a vigorous rubbing of his hands he began opera- 
tions on the tempting morsels. The first thing he 
did was to empty the contents of the tiny sugar bowl 
into his coffee; the milk followed suit. These were 
now pushed aside, and he was soon scraping the 
bottom of his soup-dish. The bread, cheese, and 
coffee next disappeared like magic, and, like Oliver 
Twist, he was looking round for more. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 57 

The waiter was soon at his side^ and piled the 
empty dishes upon his salver. 

The Frenchman^ without a word, took up the 
card and, gave the following order : 

"Vun roast bif, vun roast lamb, vun roast chicken, 
vun roast duck, vun roast turkey, vun roast potato, 
vun squash, vun turnip, vun celery, vun mushroom, 
catsup, two cranberry sauce.'' 

The waiter staggered, and in his effort to ^vnrite, 
dropped his pencil upon the floor. 

He turned to go, when his hungry customer called 
him back and said : 

^^I say, gargon, a cup of coffee, and a leetle more 
pread and sheeze.'' 

The waiter soon reappeared bearing a well-filled 
tray with the Frenchman's order. The various dishes 
were speedily grouped in a semicircle in front of 
his delighted customer. 

"Vun pottle of vine, right here, gargon, right 
here," tapping with the end of his finger on the 
table. He needed no invitation to begin operations, 
but Went to work in earnest with knife, fork, and 
spoon. 

The viands which were most agreeable to his pal- 
ate were eagerly devoured, while some of the other 
dishes were partly ignored, only the most toothsome- 
appearing morsels being eaten. Leaning back in 
his chair, he surveyed his field of operations, and 
evinced his satisfaction by a succession of grunts. 
The wine now attracted his attention, and grasping 
the bottle he threw away the unloosened cork, and. 



58 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 

pouring out a glassful of bright red wine, tossed 
it off at a drauglit. The next moment he sputtered 
what remained in his mouth over the dishes on the 
table, followed by a succession of grimaces, guttur- 
als, and expletives, which brought the waiter hastily 
to his side. 

"Ah, gargon, vat^s ze matter, you say? Vat you 
take me for? You t'ink mine stomach vaz vun vash- 
house, huh?'^ 

"What's the trouble, monsieur?'^ said the waiter. 

"Ze vine ! You make vun peef steak ! You poison 
me V^ 

"Our best Burgundy.'' 

"Burgandy, ze debble, sare! Vinegar, gargon, 
vinegar !" 

During this time the waiter was busy piling the 
dishes upon his tray. Our Frenchman, having set- 
tled down, once more took up the bill of fare, and 
went on enumerating : 

"Vun apple pie, vun custard pie, vun rice pud- 
ding, vun apple dumpling, vun nuts, vun oranges, 
vun ice-cream, vun leetle cup of strong coffee, and 
a leetle more pread and sheeze. Ah ! vat I see me 
now, at ze pottom of ze leetle card?" 

"A special dish, monsieur. Stewed mushrooms 
and frog's legs," said the waiter. 

"Mushrooms! Frog's legs! Peautiful delicas- 
sey! Vy didn't you tell me zat quick, sometimes 
pefore?" 

The waiter shook his head and made no reply, 

"Vare weel, you pring him here, quick S" 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 59 

The waiter hastily reappeared with the order, and 
once more made his semicircle of dishes, in front of 
the Frenchman, on the table. 

^^Ah ! vare goot ! I vill keep ze frog's legs to ze 
last. Dey vill keep ze rest of ze t'ings in my stom- 
ach.'^ 

The frog's legs were pushed to a convenient dis- 
tance from him, and the waiter took his leave. The 
puddings disappeared, and the pie, oranges, nuts, 
and ice-cream followed, topped off with the coffee, 
and bread and cheese. Next the frog's legs were 
drawn in front of him and subjected to a vigorous 
attack. 

To his surprise, he found them tough and un- 
palatable. After several fruitless attempts to cut 
them with his knife and fork, he finally splurted 
them from the dish and upset the mushrooms upon 
the table. 

Eising in anger from the table, he shouted for 
the waiter. 

"By gar ! Vat you call dem, eh?" 

"I'm sorry, monsieur," replied the waiter, "but 
the cook has made a mistake, and sent hare's legs 
instead." 

"Sacre! The debble heemself could not eet zem! 
I have what you call enough." 

The Frenchman grasped his hat and coat and 
turned toward the door. 

"Your check, monsieur." 

He clutched the check and hurried to the coun- 
ter. 



60 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Throwing down his money, and the check along 
with it, he shouted : 

"Ze next time yen I come inside of dis place I 
stay on ze outside! I call for frog's legs, by gar! 
You give me Belgian hare's legs !'' 



THE KNIGHTS OF THE PEESS. 

Speech of Jimmy Farley at the Fifth Anniversary 
of the Newsboys^ CUib^ the Knights of the Press. 

Friends and Feller Associates : 

It is wid a feelin' of de innermost pleasure dat 
I appear before you dis evenin' as de speaker se- 
lected for de occashun. I t'ank yer for de honor 
dat yer have conferred on me, an' hope dat I may 
be able ter acquit myself in a manner dat would 
be worthy of a newsboy of de city of New York. 
(Applause.) I am happy to say dat dis is de fifth 
anniversary of de newsboys' club, de Knights of de 
Press. 

It also affords me happiness to say dat dis club 
is now in a more prosperous condishun dan ever 
before. Dat should be a subject of de highest grat- 
ercation to de offl.cers and all dose connected wid it. 

Fer de benefit of dose who are wid us to-night 
who may not know de principuls by which dis club 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 61 

is gUYerned, I would like to make de announce- 
ment dat dis club was founded by the newsboys of 
New York, s'ported by de newsboys of New York, 
an' dat de only people in de worP dat have any say 
in its active principuls are de newsboys of New 
York. Every boy, regardless of nashonality, dat 
makes his livin' by sellin' newspapers, an' has a 
character fer tellin' de truth, wid a dispersishun to 
do what is right, can become an active member of de 
Knights of de Press. Its fundermental principuls 
are eddicashun, mut'al pertection to its members, 
an' de elervashun of mankin' gen'rally. 

You will see, den, my frien's an' brothers, how 
important it is dat every right-minded boy dat has 
an idee above a huckleberry, or a full stummick 
(laughter), should see de importance of becomin' a 
member, dat he might enjoy de benefits of its teach- 
in's an' associashuns. 

De newsboy, in my opinion, deserves more credit 
dan he is given gen'rally. He dissemernates knowl- 
edge to de classes, an' promotes de good of de com- 
munity by de circerlashun of de latest news an' use- 
ful literatoor. Dere is many a man livin' in high 
s'ciety ter-day dat wouldn't enjoy his cigar half so 
w^ell, after a warm breakfas', if he didn't have de 
mornin' paper fer consolashun. I might enum'rate 
many instances in s'port of de glorious cause of de 
newsboy were it not dat I feel dat I have fully ex- 
pressed myself on dis occashun, an' must close, wid 
de hope dat dose present who are not members of 
de Knights of de Press may join us, wid a view 



62 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

of becomin' useful^ right-minded, an' respected cit- 
erzens of dis iniglity republic. 



THE LITTLE SOCKS OF WICKLOW FARM. 

In the sunlight of his kitchen, 

Sat a farmer, old and gray ; 
He ^\^as thinking of his boyhood, 

And the years now passed away. 

He was thinking of his manhood. 

He sat thinking of his dead. 
Sternly, now, his face grew stronger, 

As he raised his heavy head. 

^^Give to me, O God,'' he uttered, 
"Give to me thy comfort now!" 

Then he rose as one in terror, 

Clasped his hands upon his brow. 

"No !" he cried, "I'll ne'er forgive her! 

She to me is dead as clay. 
All my curses heaped upon her. 

Keep her from me now alway. 

"Call her not my only daughter, 
I have none, the world shall say, 

For I've crushed all feeling for her, 
And the brat she bore away. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 63 

^^What's to me her wortliless husband, 

Beggar, outcast of the town, 
With no spark of human kindness. 

Of the lowest, lowest down? 

"So I drove them forth together, 

Barred the heavy kitchen door; 
With the night and winds contending. 

Vagrants now, forever more!'^ 

Then he turned toward the window, 
Where the jeweled mountains lay. 

In the gleaming of the ice-fields 
Shining in the golden day. 

No sound, no voice, no echo there. 

No human form he saw. 
'Twas frost ! Another winter's day 

Writ in his book of law. 

He turned away, then started back. 

What is this upon the chair? 
A small brown box, tied with a string ! 

She must have placed it there ! 

He broke the cord with nervous hand. 

The lid from it he tore. 
A little pair of baby socks 

Fell out upon the floor. 



64 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

'Twas fair Helen's baby fixings, 
By swift fingers neatly done; 

'Twas her trinkets, socks, and garments, 
By her mother knit and spun. 

All the dead past rnshed upon him, 
All the days of grief and woe. 

All the happiness, and blessings, 
Of just nineteen years ago. 

From his hands the box fell quickly, 
O'er the floor its contents flew; 

Then he grasped the hanging curtain. 
Bound him now its folds he drew. 

Through the darkness saw these pictures, 
In the shadows, come and go: 

Of a mother and her infant, 
Brightest now for him to know. 

Heard the ring of joy and gladnessi. 
Saw her innocence, her glee ; 

In her eyes the love-light shining, 
As she climbed upon his knee. 

Saw her in her girlhood's beauty, 

In her loveliness of life. 
All his comfort, all his treasure. 

Drooping o'er his poor dead wife! 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 65 

Saw her face of bitter anguish, 

As he drove her from his door, 
In that storm of cruel winter, 

To the icy, frozen moor. 



Then there came his cry of torment, 
As though terror did him seize; 

Tore the curtain in his madness, 
Fell upon his trembling knees. 

To that God which is above us, 
Then he prayed, as ne'er before. 

For that light, which is in Heaven, 
For the outcast from his door. 

That the past be all forgotten, 
All his hope he centered there. 

On his feet he stood, enlightened ; 
God had answered earnest prayer. 

Ere the night fell, came a jingling 

Of bells upon the snow, 
And the noise of prancing horses, 

In the gloaming, come and go. 

Next, the sound of merry voices. 

Open wide he threw the door. 
With a happy father's greeting. 

Counting all his treasures o'er. 



66 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

'Twas fair Helen and her infant, 
And her husband, free from harm. 

O'er the fender still are hanging 
Little socks of Wicklow Farm. 



UNCLE SAMPSON AT CONEY ISLAND. 

Talk abeout Coney Island ! Well, say, fellers, we 
hain't got nothin' like it at Vermont Center, that's 
a fact. I was aout fur a good time, an' I ruther 
guess I got all I was lookin' fur. 

It was all-fired hot^ an' thar was sich a tarna- 
shun craowd that sometimes I was walkin', an' 
sometimes I wasn't, fur the craowd held me up. 

Thar was a great squawkin' of females an 'babies, 
an' one of my caowhide boots got tangled up in a 
woman's skirts, an' caused a rumpus. She called 
me a Yankee hayseed, an' said fur two pins she'd 
fire the baby at me. None o' the gals had any pins 
abeout 'em to spare, so I didn't git the baby, arter 
all. 

Thar were more sights than you could shake a 
stick at ; an' as fur music, you'd think the hull place 
hed gone mad. 

What struck me as bein' kinder curious was that 
the hull lot o' 'em played the same tune. The dura 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 67 

thing has bin skalavantin' through my head ever 
since. 

Talk abeout clam cheowder ! Well, say, if Sally 
Ann Sampson made sich stuff fur me she'd hev a 
bath she wouldn't furgit in a hurry. They made 
up with pepper what they didn't hey fur fire; an' 
as fur clams, yeou couldn't find 'em with a telescope. 
Oile feller tried tew take my picter, whether I want- 
ed tew or not. He got the wrong pig by the ear, I 
reckon, fur he went into his hole a-flyin', with one 
of my caowhide boots arter him. 

Another feller asked me if I'd had a try at shoot- 
in' the chutes. I sed I was sorry, but I hadn't 
brought my gun with me. 

They've got another jigger they call skoop the 
skoop. They didn't skoop me in till I tried, fur fun, 
one o' 'em air machines that goes up and around, 
bumty bump. I wish I'd hev stayed aout of it, fur it 
sot everything I hed eaten fur a week clean down 
into my boots. 

Of course I hed a dip in the salty, an', gosh ! it 
was one o' the best treats I ever hed. I j'ined in 
with the rest, heart an' hand, an' when I kum aout 
you'd thought I'd swallered the ocean, I was so 
puffed auot. 

I put a couple o' handfuls o' the sand into my 
trowsers pocket, an' kum away with the convicshun 
that the island was safe an' sound. An' I'd say to 
all you fellers, that if you ever go tew New York, 
daon't furgit to go tew Coney Island. 



68 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 



TIM MUEPHY'S BILLY GOAT. 

Listen to me, an' I'll tell yees somethin' about 
Tim Murphy's billy goat. Shure, it makes me laugh 
every time I think about it. 

"Moike! Moike! Where are yees, Moike!" yelled 
Mrs. Malony. 

"Phwat's the mather?" says I. 

"Where are yees?" 

"Here, on the lounge in the kitchen, slapin' as 
swately as a churub. Will yees be afther tellin' me 
phwat's the mather?" 

"Mather enough!" scramed she. "Shure, an' 
shure, Tim Murphy's big billy goat's in the parlor !" 

"Is thot so? How did he git in, Mrs. Malony?" 

"By the windy, Moike." 

"Drive him out ! Bate him ! Kill him !" I shout- 
ed. "The baste'll be atin' yer furnitoor !" 

"Shew ! Shew ! He won't go out, Moike !" 

"It's not the loikes o' yerself thot's afeared o' a 
billy goat? Shure, the divil himsilf has horns." 

"Och ! Musha ! musha ! It's my wake's wash he 
has in his stummick ! Murdher ! Luk out, Moike ! 
He's a-comin'!" 

Afore I cud turn my hand the cratur wuz on the 
top o' me, wid his two eyes starin' at me loike mad. 
"Aha!" says I, "is thot yersilf, yees durty, ill-man- 
nered dinizen? I'll t'ach yees, pokin' yer nose into 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 69 

other paple's bizness !'' Wid thot, I giv him a smash 
on the jaw that sint him rollin' on the flure, on the 
broad o' his back. I scrambled to my fate jist as 
Mrs. Malony rushed in at the dhure wid the broom. 

^^s he dead, Moike? Is he dead?'' 

"Dead? No, shure he's not dead ! Faixlhehas 
a jaw on him loike a stone fince." 

The goat got on his fate. He wuz chewin' on 
somethin' that luked loike the bit of a tail he hed, 
fur all the wurld. 

"Luk at the soize o' him!" says I. "Phwat's that 
sthickin' out o' his mout'?" 

"It's my new clothes-line, Moike," she returned, 
wid her broom forninst her, loike a soger. 

"Murphy'll pay fur the clothes-line, an' I'll haye 
the goat. Get me gun !" 

"Shure, Moike, it's widout lock, stock, or barrel." 

"Thot's so. Where's the butcher-knoife?" 

"In the pig-stye, wid the pig yees kilt." 

"Have yees ony hot wather?" 

"Divil a dhrop ! The tay -kittle is at the tinker's." 

Afore I cud spake another wurd the goat made a 
iflive at Mrs. Malony, who ran scramin' about the 
kitchen. Shure, I cudn't help laughin' if I wor to 
die fur it, the way the ould woman got round the 
place, an' the goat af ther her. Over wint the chairs 
an' table, an' down wint the poor cratur in the 
earner, wid the goat buttin' at her. 

"Och ! Moike ! Moike !" she cried. "It's done fur 
intoirely, so I am ! The harn o' the goat is broke 
off in my soide!" 



70 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^^Lave go o' thot!'' I shouted, grabbin' the baste 
by the two harns. Up he kem on his hind legs, an' 
afore I knew phwat wuz the mather, down I wint 
on the flure, wid the cratur on the top o' me again. 
Och! Murdher! murdher! I thought I'd be aten 
aloive. By me troth it's a harrd toime I hed uy it to 
turn thot goat over on his back. Whin I did so he 
wuz dancin' on his hind legs, as though nothin' had 
happened to ayther o' us. 

^^Kick him, Moike!'' yelled Mrs. Malony. "Kick 
the stuffln' out o' him !'' 

At the wurd, I planted my brogan wid my best 
force in his soide^ thot sounded loike an ould tin 
pan, an' out cum a yard an' a half o' clothes-loine. 

The goat got enough, an' ran behoind the stove in 
the earner. 

"Now," says I, "we hev him, Mrs. Malony. Pile 
on the chairs at the back o' him, so the craytur can't 
get out." Shure, we hed him at las'. I caught 
hould o' the rope at his mout', an' pulled wid all 
my moight. Out cum another yard o' the rope, 
wid somethin' sthickin' to it. 

"Phwat is thot on the rope?" 

"A bit o' yer suspinders yer ould grandmither 
sint from Oireland." 

"Murphy'll pay fur the suspinders," says I, wid 
another pull at the rope. "An' phwat's thot, shure?" 

"A boondle of clothes-pegs, Moike." 

"Murphy'll pay fur the pegs," says I, wid a pull 
o' the rope. "An' phwat's thot?" 

"A bit o' yer Sunday pants." 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 71 

^^Me pants, eh? Shure, I'll hev the rist o' me 
pantSj.if I die fur it!" 

I gev a hard pull at the rope. Out it cum in me 
han', an' down I wint on the flure, wid the rope in 
me han^ The goat slipped under the stove loike 
a dried skin. 

I got to me fate, whin Mrs. Malony yelled out, at 
the top o' her voice : 

^Thwat's that at the ind o' the rope, Moike?'' 

"Shure, thot's the bit o' a brush never used by 
onybody but the goat himsilf. By me soul! IVb 
the goat's tail V^ 



DEWEY AT MANILA BAY. 

The sun went down o'er Manila Bay; 
There battleships at anchor lay, 
Calm and still, in the starry night. 
Fearless and bold for law and might. 

When through that op'ning forth there came, 
From out the gleaming, crested main. 
With masked lights, and pipings low. 
The iron-sheathed hulls of a warlike foe. 



72 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 

Fearless they moved^ and yet so still, 
The stoutest heart with awe might All ; 
And in the widening waters found, 
E^en like a death-trap, circled round. 

Quivered the lights along the shore, 
Hushed was the city's sullen roar, 
And, through the night, each man, at his post, 
Awaited the onset of the host. 



The gray morn broke o'er Manila Bay, 
And there, in formal battle array, 
The placid waters sweeping o'er. 
Old Glory waving at the fore, 

That mighty squadron, bearing on. 
Awoke the city's slumbering throng 
With booming guns and rattling spars- 
Brave Dewey and his gallant tars ! 

Ne'er on the breast of mortal foe 
Fell with such force more fatal blow; 
And ne'er a keener, greater surprise. 
Than on those drowsy watchers' eyes. 

Now surged the battle, fierce and wide; 
The smoke hung o'er the sluggish tide 
In blackened columns, drifting low, 
A solemn pall, o'er stricken foe. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 73 

The lurid flash, the deaf ning roar 
Of mighty guns, whose missiles pour 
Through heaving hulks, athwart, amain, 
Cruiser and battleship the same. 



Before that belt of fire and steel 
The battling hosts with terror reel ; 
They turn, dismantled and undone; 
They burn, they sink — the victory's won ! 

The sun went down o 'er Manila Bay ; 
Within the blood-stained waters lay 
The shattered wrecks, with hundreds slain- 
The vanquished ships and sons of Spain ! 

Hurrah for Dewey, and his crew — 
The flag that flaunts the azure blue! 
Long may it wave above the free, 
Herald and emblem of liberty! 

From frozen North to torrid clime, 
May every star, undimmed, shine ; 
From pole to pole, free as the day, 
And ne'er the sun set on its sway. 

Brave Dewey links the mighty chain 
That sweeps across the storm-tossed main 
A harvest rich, in golden days, 
An endless name, a nation's praise ! 



74 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 

THE PROFESSOR. 

A Dialogue for Two Characters. 

Geo. W. Denhurst Professor of elocution 

Eveline His daugkter 

Scene — Parlor in a hotel, Denver, Col. 
Frofe^sor discovered at table, looking over paper. 

Professor {reading) — "Professor Geo. W. Den- 
hurst, of the New York College of Oratory, has 
taken a suite of parlors at the Occidental, where 
he will be pleased to receive pupils in elocution and 
dramatic art, from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.^ Sundays ex- 
cepted. The training of females, particularly, is 
desired." It is rather an odd advertisement, but 
I think it will suffice for my purpose. This is my 
third annual journey to the frontier of my native 
country, buoyed up with the hope of recovering my 
lost one. So far, my efforts have been fruitless, 
yet I do not despair of finding her, if she is among 
the living. I have used my name and profession 
pretty liberally in my endeavors, and I am well 
satisfied that if she should behold one of the little 
announcements that I am scattering broadcast she 
would fly to my embrace at once. 

Eveline appears, C. She is attired as an Indian 
maiden.^ and carries a small rifle over her shoulder. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 75 

Professor (starting to his feet, and gazing won- 
deringly at her, aside) — An Indian maiden! The 
likeness is perfect ! Oh, God ! and cannot it be at 
last? 

She strikes a grotesque attitude, raises her rifle 
to her shoulder, and levels it directly at him. The 
professor exhibits no fear, standing rigid and mo- 
tionless. 

Eveline {dropping her rifle) — 'Pon my word, 
stranger, but you can stand fire like a warrior. 
{Goes quickly toward him and offers her hand.) 
Shake ! I admire bravery in a man. 

Professor {shaking hands with her) — Although 
I am not the bravest of men, there was no terror 
to me at the muzzle of your rifle. Your eyes were 
not expressive of danger. 

During the utterance of these words Eveline 
stands as one transfixed. At the conclusion of his 
speech she springs quickly forward, and, grasping 
him hy the arm, fixes her eyes upon his face. 

Eveline {turning away dejectedly) — I was mis- 
taken, stranger. Your voice seemed so familiar to 
me that I thought you must be someone that I had 
known years ago. 

Professor — So you think that you have heard my 
voice somewhere before, do you? You cannot recall 
where you have heard it? 

Eveline — I cannot recall anything, stranger. I do 
not even know where I was born. 

Professor — Ah! Indeed! What induced you to 
call and see me? 



76 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Eveline — Well, you see, stranger, I saw your ad- 
vertisement in the paper, and I thought that I would 
give you the sort of introduction that some of the 
hunters have on the frontier. 

Professor — You are intelligent — can read and 
write? 

Eveline — I am afraid that I am not very intelli- 
gent, as you call it, but I can read and write. 

Professor — You are not an Indian? 

Eveline — As I have told you, I don't know what 
I am. I live in the Gulch, with Weaniwa. 

Professor — ^Who is Weaniwa? 

Eveline — The old Indian squaw who provides for 
me, teaches me to do bead-work, and dresses me in 
fine clothes for exhibition when we come to the city. 
That is how I found you out, stranger. 

Professor — Ah ! I understand. You say that the 
name of the woman that protects you is Weaniwa? 

Eveline — As they say on the frontier, you hit the 
bull's-eye that time, sartin. 

Professor — Yes, yes ! And what is your name? 

Eveline — Hiawana. 

Professor — Hiawana ! You must have had some 
other name. Try to think. 

Eveline — Hiawana is the only name I can remem- 
ber. Weaniwa said that in her tongue it meant 
White Fawn. 

Professor (agitated) — Great heaven! Can it be 
possible? (Places a chairs C. ) Sit down, Hiawana. 
You must be tired. (She seats herself.) I feel as 
much interest in you, little one, as though you were 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 77 

my own child. You must tell me all about this 
Indian woman who has been so kind to you, {She 
places her rifle on the stage heside her, and gazes 
vacantly ahouty as though she were awukening from 
a dream.) Go on^ Hiawana. 

Eveline — She is not kinder to me than you are, 
stranger. I will tell you all I know about myself. 
I have a dim recollection of a far-away home, and 
a mster and mother. Moreover, I have an almost 
obscure recollection of a father, who was more than 
kind to me. It seems to me that I can hear him 
now, addressing large gatherings of people. {She 
pauses, and draws her hand dreamily across her 
forehead. ) 

Professor — Go on, my child. You do not know 
low interested I am in your story. 

Eveline — I can feel the whirl and rush of cars, 
and hear the noise and rumble of wheels. Now I 
see a merry party upon a tall cliff. I wander away, 
and shriek with all my strength as I seem to be 
hurled into a bottomless pit. Then all is blank. My 
next recollection is of a strange, dark-skinned wom- 
an standing over me. She said that she had found 
me at the bottom of the Gulch, and that I must be 
very quiet, as my head was injured. 

Professor — What a revelation! {Aside.) I am 
more than satisfied that the unfortunate girl before 
me is my own child. What a dreadful position for 
a fond parent to be placed in ! If I could only re- 
store but for a moment the glimmering light of rea- 
son in her brain! What shall I do? I must be 



78 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 

further satisfied. Ah! The little recitations I 
taught her when a child ! Perhaps she may remem- 
ber one of them. 

Eveline — I cannot tell you anything more, stran- 
ger. 

Professor — You spoke, a few moments since, of 
one whom you supposed to be your father. Don^t 
you think you would recognize him, if you saw him? 
{She shakes her head mournfully.) Your father 
being an orator, as you say, must have taught you 
some selections, in prose or verse, that you doubt- 
less remember. I should so much like to hear you 
speak one of them. 

Eveline — Let me think. Yes, there is one that 
I recall. I will recite it for you. {She arises and 
recites the following poem) : 

^^The cataract! See how it leap's 

Adown the rugged hill, 
Across the meadow, through the wood, 
Then by the old grist-mill. 

^^Its limpid waters lashed to foam, 
As onward to the sea. 
Among the rocks, with angry voice, 
Eoars ever sullenly. 

"It surges, hisses, seethes, and spouts, 
Drives fishes to the air, 
And, like a maddened charger, seeks 
For freedom everywhere. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 79 

^^Its rushing waters ne^er fulfil, 
To turn the lumbering wheel, 
And fill the miller's heart with joy 
By sacks of sweetest meal. 

^^The lovers seek its flow'ry banks^ 

The children fear it not, 
And in its shade the cattle find 
No more delightful spot. 

^^Close by the farm-house on the hill, 

Under the bridge of stone, 
Deep and swift, with a merry laugh, 
A sigh, anon a moan. 

^^Onward, then, to the rocky crest, 
Then down, with deafening roar, 
Foaming and hissing in the pools, 
The angry waters pour. 

"The cataract ! Its murmur dwells 
Where'er my footsteps roam. 
The sweetest spot on earth to me — 
My own dear native home." 

Professor (icho has stood enrapt during her re- 
cital) — Be comforted, my child. It is not a dream, 
a phantasy, as related in the story of the cataract. 
May God give you strength to realize the truth. 
Ah! The visions that tormented your mind have 
been dispelled. I can see it in the sparkling of 



80 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

your eyes. I have not searched for you in vain. 
Look up ! look up ! — my child ! Eveline ! look upon 
me! 

Eveline (with a cry of joy rushing to his em- 
brace) — Father! 

Professor — Eveline, my child ! At last ! 



THE LINK OF FEIENDSHIP. 

The heautiful story of Damon and Pythias^ as con- 
tained in the popular play of that name. 

Behold the ancient city of Syracuse, agitated with 
civil feuds, factions, and brawls, incidental to a 
struggle for supremacy. We see, at this time, two 
notable persons among them : Damon, a noble sen- 
ator, a man of considerable repute among them, 
proud, stern, austere, aggressive in disposition, and 
loud-voiced for the liberties of his countrymen. The 
other, Pythias, a valiant soldier, young, ardent, im- 
pulsive, a friend to Damon, and a strong believer 
in the principles which he advocates. 

We behold Damon in his little country villa, with- 
out the walls of the city of Syracuse, surrounded 
by home comforts, the presence of his gentle wife, 
Hermion, and his little boy, Damon, both of whom 
he idolized as he did his own life. We regard his 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 81 

happines^s, his affection for the loved ones about 
him, and hear him tell over again some of those 
noble principles for the betterment of mankind 
which agitated his breast. We see, once more, 
Pythias, and his betrothed, Calanthe, and hear them 
recount once more their tender words of affection 
and sincerity. 

We behold Damon rushing into the Senate House, 
where sat the mighty rulers of the kingdom, and 
hear him thundering his anathemas in their ears. 
Again we behold him, infuriated almost beyond con- 
trol, with his glittering poniard poised above his 
head, aiming it at the life's blood of the tyrant, Dio- 
nysius. For this offense we see him overcome by 
the soldiery, and, by the command of the king, 
shackled hand and foot and thrown into a noisome 
dungeon. We hear his pleadings go forth to Dio- 
nysius that he may behold his friend, Pythias, be- 
fore he dies ; that he may behold his wife and child 
before he dies. Even these poor boons were strenu- 
ously denied him by the king. He has transgressed 
upon one of the most important laws of the king- 
dom, he has forfeited his life, and must die upon 
the scaffold. 

And now we behold him led forth to execution, 
his heavy chains clanking upon the stony streets 
of Syracuse. Around and about him are the sol- 
diery of the king — Dionysius a central figure. Be- 
side the block stands the grim headsman, with the 
fatal axe glittering in his hand. Without, the som- 
ber, silent multitude of Syracuse, awaiting the mo- 



82 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 

ment of execution. There would not seem a ray 
of hope for Damon at this moment. When, hark ! 
A cry is heard, and Pythias, forcing his way through 
the multitude, with a cry of anguish prostrates him- 
self before the king. He begs of Dionysius that 
Damon be allow^ed to behold his wife and child, and 
that he be granted a respite of four hours. He 
implores of him that he may be permitted to take 
Damon's place in irons> as a hostage for his return, 
and cries out: "Do this — but this, and may the 
gods lift up thy greatness as high as their own 
heaven !" 

Dionysius gazed on him in wonder and admira- 
tion. He could scarcely believe that such a condi- 
tion of friendship could exist in the human breast. 
To satisfy himself on this point he ordered that 
the chains be removed from Damon and placed 
upon Pythias, which done, they separated, Pythias 
going forth to Damon's dungeon, and Damon to lib- 
erty for his short respite of four hours. 

Now came the most trying ordeal for Pythias 
that he had yet experienced. Being called forth 
from his dungeon, he beheld before him his adorable 
Calanthe and a heavily cowled monk. This monk 
painted for him a glowing picture of liberty. The 
vessel was already in the harbor, her sails were set, 
ready to depart. He had but to say the word, and 
liberty should be his; Calanthe should be his; and 
all that he most desired in the world should be his. 
Calanthe pleaded with him, but in vain. Pythias, 
be it said to his honor, was true to his friend. He 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 83 

believed that Damon would return; if not, death, 
to him, would be far more preferable than dishonor 
in flight. Turning from them both, he fled fran- 
tically back to the remotest corner of his dungeon. 
Had he been able to penetrate the cowl of that 
monk, he would have beheld the sinister features 
of the king, Dionysius. 

In the meantime, Damon, mounted upon the 
swiftest steed in Syracuse, dashes away over the 
stony streets, thence over hill, and down dale, until 
he reaches his little country villa. Hermion, his 
wife, is in his arms, and to her he quickly relates 
his experiences of the past few hours : his attempt 
upon the life of the king, his arrest and imprison- 
ment, his being led forth to execution, the interven- 
tion of Pythias as a hostage for his return. He 
informs her that he has less than four hours to live, 
and that he must return at once to save his friend. 
Hermion falls lifeless in his arms. He places her 
in a seat, and is about taking his last look upon 
her when he is startled by the cry of his little boy, 
Damon, who rushes to his embrace. Then his heart 
almost bursts. He raises the child in his arms, his 
tears falling fast and heavy upon the little up- 
turned face. He places the child beside its mother 
and rushes into the garden. 

The sun is rapidly going down behind the hills. 
He has not a moment to spare. He seeks his steed. 
It is nowhere to be found. He beholds his faithful 
slave, Lucullus, cowering in the garden. He rushes 
toward him and demands his steed. The slave grov- 



84 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

els at Ms feet ^^Oh, my master!'^ lie cries, "to save 
your life, I slew your steed V^ 

It was a moment of despair, fraught with mad- 
ness, for Damon. Almost frenzied with rage and 
desperation, he cried aloud : "Pythias, my friend ! 
He will be slain, and I am his murderer !'' Clutch- 
ing the trembling slave, he dragged him furiously 
toward a frowning precipice. 

And now Pythias stands alone at the block. Ca- 
lanthe has been torn from his arms, and already 
his neck is being prepared to receive the fatal blow. 
He has but two minutes to live, Damon has not 
come, and he must die in his stead upon the scaf- 
fold. He kneels beside the block, the headsman's 
axe is in the air, when, hark! A distant cry is 
heard. A horse and rider are at the stretch. Louder 
and louder the yells of the multitude are heard, 
until the rattling of the horse's hoofs resound upon 
the stony street, and Damon, begrimed with dust 
and mire, huge drops of sweat standing like beads 
on his brow, and his whole being quivering with 
emotion, with a wild cry of joy leaps into the en- 
closure and is folded in the arms of his friend, 
Pythias. 

In a whirl of ecstatic joy and madness, and amid 
the prolonged shouts of the multitude, he relates 
the story of his adventure with a horseman, the 
capture of his steed, and his speeding on the wings 
of the wind to save his friend. Mounting the scaf- 
fold, his voice is heard crying out: "I am standing 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 85 

upon my throne, as proud a one as Ms, that I have 
reached V^ 

Falling before the block, the headsman's axe is 
glittering in the air, when, behold ! a cowled monk 
comes quickly forward, and, throwing down his 
disguise, 'tis Dionysius, the king ! 

' ' Behold me ! " he cries. ' ■ Say this at every door 
in Syracuse : that Dionysius, tyrant as he is, gives 
back his life to Damon V^ 



THE WITCH. 

Within a glade, 'mong tangled roots and mire. 
An old witch sat, beside her crackling fire. 
Now in the flames she thrust her bony hands. 
Drew" forth the sticks, and whirled the fiery brands. 
"Oho !'' she cried, "ye whelps of sin and shame. 
With these mad sticks I'll scourge ye o'er again ! 
Come, now, ye all, from out your loathsome den ! 
'Tis Wild Madge bids ye come, accursed of men !'^ 
Then down on the ground, in frenzy, she tore. 
Mumbling and ranting her wretched old lore. 
Now forth from the gloom, in the early fall morn, 
Came a fierce, crouching form, unshaven, forlorn, 
With glaring eyes fixed on the croaking old crone, 
Like a ghoul from the dead^ claiming his own. 



86 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, 

So slow he moved, the reptile life ne'er feel. 
Within his hand there gleams a blade of steel. 
Now o'er the witch he bends, with grim delight, 
Gnashing his teeth, the very winds to fright. 
He grasps her by the hair, her throat he thumbs, 
Down cleaves the deadly knife. {Terrific shriek.) 
The daylight comes. 



SNYDEE VOS SO GOOT. 

( The German Philosopher. ) 

Address of Louis Schumann at a Memorable Gath' 
ering of his Associates. 

Mine Friendts : 

I t'ank you very mootch ven I hear you say dot 
you must haf a man dot knows somedings to speak 
to you to-nighd. Now, mine friendts, I don'd know 
vedder I vos dot man you vant, or not. I t'ink, 
maype, dot you vould be mistaken ven you hear 
vot I haf got to say. Off you know id, you know 
more as vot I do mineself. Von t'ing you know 
pooty quick, und dot is, der pisness oof hot frank- 
fordts is bedder for me den der pisness oof makin' 
speeches. 

Der shentlemans who has takin his seat mit your 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES- 87 

handts of abblause vonct sedt dot der only vay to 
get dare vos to vork. He meant ven he sedt dot 
dot he vos talkin' aboud dis brudderhood. I b'lieve 
vot he say abond id from der pottom oof my heart. 
Der man vot goes ter sleep ven he ought ter be 
avake vill vake oop tead. Off I vould feet a man mit 
colt frankfordts he vould get mat^ und say dot my 
pisness vos goin' ter de togs. I must vork to keep 
dem varm, und dot keeps mine customers. Der vay 
ter keep a pisness is ter make it keep you. Der 
vay ter make a pisness is like makin' a steam-engine. 
You make der bieces, pud dem togedder, de veels, 
de fire-hole, de smoke-stack, und everyt'ing vot you 
vant; den, mine friendts, you haf no more droubles; 
der machines run demselves. 

Dare are two odder fellers vot couldn't vait. De 
fust man vants to get dare too quick. He joomps 
so high at vonce dot he findts dare is not enough 
vind in der air ter keep him oop dare, so he has 
ter come down kersmash. Der odder feller is like 
der goose mitoudt der golden egg. He gets von 
gold egg every tay, but he don'd vos been satisfied. 
He vants all ter eggs at vonce, so he kills der goose, 
und findts dot id is empdy. Dot so? 

Der most impordant subject pef ore you to-nighd 
is der toombstone by der Monumental Fundt oof 
dis Brudderhood. Now, mine friendts, let me say 
dot I, for vun, am in der favor oof der toombstone. 
Id is der last t'ing vot ve can gif a man in dis vorld. 
Vy shouldn't he haf id? How vould ve feel oof ve 
vould gone tead, come pack agen, und findt no 



88 HUTCHINSON'S KECITATIONS, ' 

toombstone ofer our graves? I know dot you vould 
all say, shust as I do, mine friendts, dot I am 
sorry. Vot kindt oof a brudderhood vould id pe, 
anyhovr, dot vouldn't helup a man ven lie is down? 



THE STUDENT AND HIS BOAST. 

A sea-captain and a young student, of but slight 
acquaintance, were strolling along, the other day, 
when the student inadvertently made the remark 
that any female of ordinary intelligence could be 
approached without an introduction. The captain, 
who was noted as being somewhat of a joker, turned 
to the student sharply and said : 

^^Do I understand you to mean that you can ap- 
proach any young female you desire to become ac- 
quainted with, without an introduction ?'' 

"That's precisely what I mean," returned the stu- 
dent 

"Are you quite sure of what you say?'' again said 
the captain, with a merry twinkle in his eye. 

"I wish that I was as sure that I am going to 
get a thousand dollars to-day as I am, of that," was 
the answer. 

The captain gave him another one of his sharp 
glances, and replied : 

"I know of one little female^ I would venture to 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 89 

say, that you would not dare to approach without 
an introduction." 

^^Is she pretty?'' 

*Tretty as a picture! The trimmest, finest little 
creature that you ever saw. She is from the Orient, 
a new arrival in the country. Her name is Nancy." 

"Don't make any difference about her name," 
said the student. 

"What do you think about her?" inquired the 
captain. 

"Don't know. How old is she?" 

"That's a delicate question to answer, for a fe- 
male. She may be sixteen, and she may be sixty, 
for all I know." 

"I would like to try it," said the student, with a 
long breath. 

"Come with me, then," said the captain, locking 
his arm in that of the student. "It is only a walk 
around the corner." 

A walk of a few minutes brought them to a mod- 
est three-story brick house, where the captain halt- 
ed, and, ringing the bell, the summons was quickly 
answered, and they were admitted. The captain 
soon had the student safely ensconced in a comfort- 
able arm-chair, and disappeared in an adjoining 
room, where the following conversation took place : 

"Hello, Cap!" came a clear, sharp voice. "I've 
been looking for you." 

"That is nice of you," replied the captain. "So 
you were looking for me, were you, Naucy?" 



90 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

"Ay, ay, sir ! Had a bracer ?^' resounded the same 
shrill voice. 

"Well, Bo^ — ^not exactly/' he responded. "I Ve had 
a walk/' 

"Ha ! ha! ha!'' laughed Nancy. "Tell that to the 
marines !" 

"You are looking very fresh this afternoon, my 
dear," remarked the captain. 

"Not so fresh as that rooster you brought in," 
came the shrill voice. 

"Ha ! ha ! ha V^ roared the captain. 

"I've had a clean wash." 

"Oh, I understand, Nancy; you have had a bath 
this afternoon." 

"You bet I have !" she screamed. 

"I am real glad of that, Nancy. I have brought 
a nice young gentleman to see you." 

"Quack! quack! quack!" replied Nancy, in pier- 
cing tones. 

"But he is such a nice young man," chimed in the 
captain, mockingly, "handsome, college bred " 

"Quack ! quack ! quack !" repeated Nancy. 

"Has high connections, wealthy " 

"I've heard ducks quack before," she screamed. 
^^He don't cut any ice with me." 

"Why, Nancy, dear, think of what you are say- 
ing !" 

"He can't make eyes at me, I tell you ! Quack ! 
quack !" 

"I'm sorry to hear you go on this way, Nancy." 

"He's a son of a gun ! Quack ! quack !" 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES 91 

^'I am astonished '' 

^^So am I. Quack ! quack ! Hair like oakum.'' 

"Don't be so silly, my dear/' 

"Quack ! quack ! Face like salt-junk." 

"You will ruin your prospects." 

"Can't help it. Quack ! quack ! Nose like a boat- 
hook." 

"Listen to me, Nancy !" 

"Quack ! quack ! Mouth like a clam." 

"How have you found this out?" 

"From the window. I had my weather-eye open. 
Quack! He can't hold hands with me. Quack! 
quack ! quack !" 

The captain suddenly made his appearance in the 
parlor, where the student, who had, no doubt, been 
more than an attentive listener to all that was 
going on, stood in the middle of the floor, hat in 
hand, ready to depart. 

^^ Don't be in a hurry," he said. ^^You can now 
see what you can do with Nancy." 

"I'd rather be excused," he answered, in a trem- 
bling voice. "I think I will be going." 

"Wait a moment," rejoined the captain. "I will 
introduce Nancy to you." 

He disappeared, and the next moment returned 
with a large gray parrot in a cage. 

The student, now realizing for the first time that 
he had been tricked, clutched his hair in anger, and 
without waiting for an introduction, flew to the 
door, and down the steps. 



92 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^^See Mm run!'' shrieked the parrot. "The son 
of a sea-horse! Give him grape and cannister!" 

The captain rushed to the window, roaring with 
laughter at the success of his powers of ventrilo- 
quism, and looked out. He was too late, however, 
for the student had gone. 



SANDY MacALLISTER'S DREAM. 

Sandy had been imbibing rather freely the night 
before. In his own words, he was not feeling well, 
so he got permission from his foreman for a short 
leave of absence, and went home at an early hour to 
have a quiet nap. 

He had been a quiet lodger in the Miggs family 
for a number of years, and, consequently, he enjoyed 
privileges therein which some of the other lodgers 
did not possess. He had a night-key, and could 
enter the house at any hour he chose. It was almost 
dark when he arrived home. It so happened on this 
occasion that the Miggs family were absent, and 
would not return until a late hour. A few of the 
lodgers were present in the dining-room. Dolly, 
the servant girl, was employed in waiting upon 
them. Sandy drank a cup of strong tea, and, with- 
out a word^ quietlj^ left the roam^ 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 93 

^^Sandy is not so weel the day/' coolly remarked 
one of the men. 

"I ken ye weel, mon/' chuckled another. "I'm 
thinkin' he'll be seein' some o' his friends afore 
momin'.'^ 

Here both men laughed heartily. 

Sandy went at once to his room, and, relieving 
himself of his coat, vest, and shoes, threw himself 
upon his bed, and vainly endeavored, for a time, 
to close his eyes in sleep. He heard the lodgers 
bang the door as they went out, one after another. 
He heard Dolly singing merrily in the hall a mo- 
ment later. Then another door banged, and he 
knew that he was alone in the house. Thus evi- 
dently relieved, he stretched himself comfortably on 
the bed, and fell fast asleep. The rays of the har- 
vest moon streamed into the room through the open 
window and made it as light as day. Sandy was 
sound asleep, sure enough, with his head resting 
upon a huge bolster, and snoring lustily. Sud- 
denly, something in the form of a human being 
sprang in at the open window and stood crouching 
over him. 

"What be ye, man or beast?'' muttered Sandy, 
partly rising, and fixing his gaze upon the strange- 
looking object. 

The fierce-looking creature protruded its head 
quickly toward him, and shouted in a sepulchral 
voice : 

"Boo-whoo !'^ 



94 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^^It's the de'il himseP !" ejacnlated Sandy, duck- 
ing down and covering his head with the bolster. 

Sandjj be it said to hm credit^ was no coward. 
Usually he would fight anything when aroused, 
though it were twice his bulk. This monster, seem- 
ingly, was too much for him. It had taken him 
by surprise, and had completely confounded him. 

Rising to a sitting posture, he glanced quickly 
about him. The hateful object had disappeared. 
He was, doubtless, congratulating himself that it 
had gone for good, when, to his horror, he beheld 
it on the opposite side of the bed. It was certainly 
more ghastly and hideous-looking than ever before. 
The eyes of the monster were flaming like live coals, 
and the horrible teeth chattering, as though in fiend- 
ish delight and mockery. 

"Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ it thundered, thrusting 
its horrible head and shoulders forward, as before. 

Another bolt under the bolster was the restilt 
from Sandy. 

As he lay there, trembling, and his hair standing 
on end, like quills on a porcupine's back, he could 
hear those dreadful utterances at the foot of the 
bed, then at the head of the bed, and he fairly 
groaned in affright It seemed to him that he could 
endure the terrible suspense no longer. Starting 
to his knees, with a roar of desperation, he leaned 
forward, and, clutching his heavy shoes from the 
floor, he raised them above his head, with a fixed 
determination to annihilate the fiendish object on 
its next appearance. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 95 

He had not long to wait, for almost the next in- 
stant the grinning thing appeared over the foot of 
the bed. 

^^Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ it roared. 
"YonVe brought it on yourseP, monster that ye 
are !'' he fairly hissed. The next instant the shoes 
were hurled at the grinning head with terrific force. 
Down it went like a shot. With a cry of delight he 
sprang to the foot of the bed to gloat over his vic- 
tory. 

"Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!'' came from the left of 
the bed. 

Sandy sprang from the bed with a bound. His 
nerve was completely gone. 

"A madman !'' he shrieked, rushing in terror from 
the room. 

"Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!" roared the other at his 
heels. 

Upward he sped with the speed of the wind. At 
the top of the second flight of stairs he stood in dis- 
may. He tried the door. It was locked. He could 
hear the heavy tread of the fiend behind him, and 
already he felt his burning breath upon his cheek. 
He would be destroyed, body and soul ! The door 
resisted his efforts. He threw his body against it, 
once, twice, thrice. It flew open with a crash. The 
madman was there, with his ghastly, grinning face, 
and clutching hands. 

"Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo !'' he screamed. 

Sandy was wrought to frenzy. Still upward he 



96 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

fled. He climbed a flight of rickety stairs to the 
roof. 

"Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo!'' came the blood-curd- 
ling words beneath him. 

"Aha! I'll fix ye noo, ye blatherin' idiot!" shout- 
ed Sandy, throwing up the trap and leaping upon 
the roof. His object was to force down the trap 
and thus prevent further progress of the fiend. To 
his amazement, he could not crush it down. 

"Boo-whoo ! Boo-whoo V^ struck like a death-knell 
upon his ears. 

The heavy lid was forced upward with terrific 
forca He found himself thrown violently upon 
the roof. In an instant the madman was upon him. 
He could feel the terrible grip of death-like fingers 
clutching his throat, and the hot breath of the mon- 
ster burning on his cheek as he grappled with him. 
Downward they struggled on the slippery roof, until 
the very edge was reached. 

"Boo-whoo! Boo-whoo !'' now crashed upon his 
ear, as with a piercing cry they were hurled down 
to the stony street. 

At this perilous moment light glared upon the 
scene, and the Miggs family, alarmed at his cries, 
rushed pell-mell into the room. 

There Sandy stood erect upon the bed, with a look 
of the wildest consternation on his face. His mad- 
man was the huge bolster of his bed, that he was 
clutching in his arms. 

Sandy never heard the last of that night's adven- 
ture. He was fond of argumentation, but if you 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 97 

wanted to silence him on any subject, you had only 
to say "Boo-whoo !'' 



THE SONG OF THE FLY, 

There is a song that's ever sung 

In every land and clime; 
'Twas born when Life's world first began, 

To die at end of Time. 
It sings for king upon his throne. 

As well for lowly slave, 
And all it follows everywhere, 

Through life unto the grave. 

Through all the changing scenes of years 

It lingers in the mind, 
And happy recollection brings 

Of those we ne'er more find. 
When near by Granny's spinning-wheel, 

A child upon the floor, 
With pleasant thought comes back to us 

That merry song of yore. 

Perhaps no singer in the land 

Has fewer friends than he. 
For every living thing protests 

Against his liberty. 



98 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Despite the locks, and bolts^ and bars, 

He lights upon your nose, 
Or, on your ear, with thrilling note, 

He drives away repose. 

Yet, robber bold that he may be, 

He gleans with every care, 
And helps himself to best of things. 

Nor scorns the beggar's fare. 
With all his faults, God gave him life. 

For good, as you and I. 
Dear reader, would you know his name? 

'Tis mother's old house-fly. 



PADDY MILES AND THE PLUM^DUFF. 

Here am J, Paddy Miles, from Cork. All the^way 
from Oireland to New York. You see, sors, the walk- 
in' was bad, so I kem over by the boat. I'm de- 
scinded from two Irish noblemin, Bourack and 
Bourack. Shure, their names wor so much aloike 
yees couldn't tell wan from the ither. Wan day my 
ould mither sez to me : 

"Paddy," says she, "wurk is gittin' scarce. Yees 
had betther be doin' up yur Sunday clothes an' luk- 
in' up a job fur yurself." 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 99 

^^AU roight, mither," says I. ''I think I'll be 
goin ' to Amerikay . ' ' 

"Amerikay !'^ says she, wid a face on her as long 
as yur arrum. "An' ain't yees afraid, Paddy, yur'll 
be drownded^at say?" 

"Not at all, at all, mither," says I. 

"An' phwy not?" says she. 

"Because," says I, "wasn't me faither a Cark 
mon?" 

"Yis," says she. 

"An' wasn't his faither, and his faither's faither 
Cark min?' says I. 

"I b'lave they wor," says she. 

"An' did jee^ iver know o' a Cark mon to be 
drowned at say?" says I. 

Wid dis, the ould woman began to bawl, thin I 
began to bawl, thin we both bawled togither, an' 
begorra, we bawled till we c'u'dn't bawl any bawler. 

Well, to make a long story short, as I was goin' 
down to the boat, I met me ould schoolmasther, 
Mr. Burke. 

" The top o' the marnin' to yees, Patrick," says he. 
He always called me Patrick, for short. "Where 
are yees goin'?" 

"Well," says I, "Mr. Burke, if the ship don't go 
to the bottom, I'm goin' to Amerikay." 

"It's a long voyidge," says he. 

"Faix, I know it," says I. "Shure, it's glad I am 
to meet yees. You'll be afther givin' me a bit o' 
charracter." 



100 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

"It's sorry I am I can't do that same/' says he. 
"Yees niver hed ony charracter to give." 

^^Thot's the raison," says I/^I'm axin' yees fur 
wan now/' 

"Well/' says he, "I'll hould yees in remimbrance. 
Shure, I'll sind the charracter by expriss to New 
York." 

"T'ank yees fur thot same, Mr. Burke," says I. 
"My prayers are thot the divil may not fly away 
wid yees." 

Shure, there's miles an' miles of the Mileses in 
Oireland. You kin see ther tombstuns at the road- 
side, onywhere yees want to luk — five, tin, an' twin- 
ty miles to Cark. 

Whin I got down to the boat they wor waitin' 
fur me. The min wor haulin' in the loins. There 
was such a crowd on the dock to see me off, so 
jammed an' squeezed togither, thot yur couldn't tell 
wan fram the ither. 

Whin we got out into the strame, wan o' the 
purty byes kem on deck, an' says he, "All hands 
below!" 

"Phwat is thot yur say?" says I. 

"All hands below," says he. 

"What about my brogues?" says I. 

"Get down in the hould," says he. 

Wid thot he took hould o' me collar. 

"Hould on!" says I. He guv me a shove, an' 
down I wint to the bottom o' the hould, wid me 
back skint as clane as a whistle. 

Whin I got on deck in the marnin', shure I 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 101 

c'udn't tell where the land might be for the hapes 
o' wather about me. The atin' was bad, an' the 
wather worse. What wid the salt-junk, the crack- 
ers, the praties, an' the plum-duff — ouch ! Begorra, 
shall I iver furgit the plum-duff? Shure, I ate a 
pailful o' it. I no sooner got it into me stummick 
thon the duff an' the plums began to foight, an' the 
duff hed it — wan pound o' duff to two plums. 

^Thwat's the mather?" says wan o' the min. 

"It's toid wid a knot," says I, "but I'll lave it 
go." 

I made a dive fur the soide o' the ship. 

A say cratur was swimmin' alongsoide — a shark, 
I b'lave they call it. Not carin' to be impolite, shure 
I guv the ould gintlemon all the plum-duff I hed 
to spare. The next toime Oi go on a say voyidge 
Oi'll sthay in Oireland. 



THE CIRCUIT PREACHER. 

Fiercely and wild the hot winds blow, 
Across the plains as white as snow, 
Whirling in clouds the glittering sands 
Deep from the breast of the arid lands. 



102 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Blazed like a fiery furnace high 

The midday sunburst of the sky, 

And twixt the blasts, and scorching glare, 

Left no hope nor refuge from despair. 

Wrapped in mantle of fire and stone, 

A rider from his steed is thrown ; 

Down in the sands, in terror dight. 

He clings to the reins with strength of might. 

Snorting and plunging in the air, 
The rider shrieking in despair. 
With maddened force he breaks the hold 
That grips him with a weight of gold. 

And upward to the frowning cliffs 
His heaving flanks in frenzy lifts. 
From out those dreadful, scorching sands. 
That hapless form now holds his hands; 

And fights to gain his feet once more. 
That burning waste to struggle o'er. 
He rubs his eyes, no light they gave. 
But all the darkness of the grave. 

"O God!'' he cried, "it cannot be, 
This is my earthly destiny ! 
In blindness here to yield my breath — 
On this dread waste to lie in death !" 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 103 

Then down upon the sands fell low, 
Gave all to God, for weal or woe. 
Renewed with courage, he arose, 
With burning brain, and cruel throesJ, 

And in his darkness sped away, 
Till in the sands unconscious lay. 
Yet death to him was not to be, 
In this dread waste of misery. 

A hunting party on the plains, 

Ere night came on, now drew their reins. 

As eagerly they round him draw, 

The circuit preacher's form they saw. 

Half buried in the drifted sand. 
They drew him forth, life to command. 
God gave him strength and light of day, 
Once more to live to preach and pray. 



BEFORE MARRIAGE. 

Dialogue for Two Characters, Male and Female. 

Scene — A fashionable parlor. Table and easy- 
chairs, C. ; rich cloth and vase of flowers on table; 
footstool at back. Orlando and Angelica seated, 
R. and L. 



104 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Angelica {sweetly) — Orlando! 

Orlando — What is it, love? I am all attention. 

Angelica — Do you know what this reminds me of? 

Orlando — I am sure I do not. 

Angelica — Well, it reminds me of a beautiful 
story I once read in my childhood. 

Orlando — Yes? I presume you mean our court- 
ship. 

Angelica — ^I certainly do, Orlando. It seems to 
me just as pure and sweet as these lovely flowers 
upon the table. 

Orlando — Ah ! You are so poetical, Angelica ! 

Angelica — Oh, I think poetry is just lovely. You 
know, as well as I do, dear, that all these beautiful 
things of Nature were created for our pleasure and 
delight, and it is just as little as we can do to offer 
up our thankfulness in the spirit of poetical effu- 
sions. Besides, pure poetry is so refreshing, and 
sips the nectar of love. 

Orlando — Excuse me, love, if I express my feel- 
ings with a smile. 

Angelica — Oh, I know that men are not so tender 
as women are. They say that the course of true 
love never does run smooth ; but I am happy to say, 
Orlando, that there is an exception to the rule in 
our case. Don't you think so, dear? 

Orlando — I certainly do, my dear. We have real- 
ly more to be thankful for than most people have. 

Angelica — That is true, my love. But* then, you 
know that so many people are so responsible for 
their unhappiness. It is so easy to borrow trouble. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 105 

With us it is so very different. There are no jars, 
no disturbances^ no grievances, but all peaceful and 
delightfully happy. {Starts to her feet^ and presses 
her hand upon her forehead. ) Why, dear, I really 
believe that I am getting dizzy. 

Orlando {rising quickly) — Dizzy, my love! I will 
bring some water. 

^Angelica — Not for the world, my dear Orlando! 
Pray, do not be alarmed ; 'tis nothing serious. 

Orlando — You gave me a momentary fright. 

Angelica — That simply shows the depth of your 
devotion. 'Twas but a rapture, an ecstasy of joy, 
that carried me away. You remember, Orlando, that 
beautiful story of Ingomar, the barbarian? There 
are two lines in it that seem to apply to the devo- 
tion we have for each other. ^^Two souls with but 
a single thought '^ 

Orlando {embracing her) — "Two hearts that beat 
as one.'^ 



AFTER MAEEIAGE. 

Dialogue. Characters as in the foregoing selection. 

Scene — A parlor. Tables and chairs, R. and L. 
Orlando and Angelica discovered, R. and L., sitting 
at tables, with their backs ,partly turned toward 



106 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

each other. Orlando is reading a newspaper An- 
gelica a magazine. 

Angelica {glancing over her sTioidder at him) — 
Dear me! How stupid these men are! 

Orlando — Phew ! What a tiresome old sheet, to 
be sure! Politics! politics! politics! Anything to 
fill up a paper. 

Angelica (dropping the tooJc in her lap) — This 
book must have the fidgets ! 

Orlando — Terrific boiler explosion in New Jersey, 
smashup on Broadway, a balloonist takes a plunge 
in Buzzard's Bay, execution at Sing Sing 

Angelica — Why don't he say something? 

Orlando — Wants, wants^ wants ! Wants are nev- 
er supplied ; they become more numerous. The same 
old story. Look up a situation, and you find a mob 
ahead of you, fighting to get in, at five o'clock in 
the morning. 

Angelica — What horrible pictures for a maga- 
zine ! If it was not that he is my husband, I would 
throw the book at him. 

Orlando — Lard, hams, butter, and eggs lively. 
[{Cry of infant imthout.) Another county heard 
from. 

Angelica — Men ! Brutes — monsters ! 

Orlando — Hello! Here's a go! Another Black 
Friday in Wall Street. Bulls and bears panic- 
stricken. {Cri/ of infant.) Angelica, I do wish 
you would attend to that child! 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 107 

Angelica — It is unfortunate that you should be 
disturbed by the cry of the child. 

Orlando (cry of infant) — Do you hear that, An- 
gelica? You are simply wasting your time over 
those horrid magazines. 

Angelica — No worse than that evening paper of 
yours. 

Orlando — What do you mean, dear? 

Angelica — Don't dear me ! Has it never occurred 
to you how selfish you are? Any man of sense ought 
to know better. I am tired of it. You fly into a rage 
if the child cries while you are poring over your 
evening paper. You forget that I have to endure 
it the entire day. You read the morning paper. 
That should satisfy any man of ordinary intelli- 
gence. 

Orlando — What about your magazines? 

Angelica — I am willing to compromise the mat- 
ter. If you will give up your evening paper for my 
sake, I promise you that I will give up my maga- 
zines for your sake. You see how selfish I am. 

Orlando ( starting tip ) — I don't think so. ( Crush' 
ing the paper in his hands. ) Done ! ( Throws down 
paper. ) 

Angelica {throimng doion magazine and rushing 
to his arms) — Forgive me, Orlando, for being so 
cross to you, but it is so nice, my dear, to have some- 
one to rock the cradle once in a while. 



108 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

RUBY JONES' LECTURE ON MATRIMONY. 

Friends^ and Women Associates : 

It affords me pleasure to see such an assemblage 
of happy, smiling faces before me this evening. It 
proves to my mind that the people of this commu- 
nity are awake, and not slumbering in the delusions 
of life, as some folks are. The subject of my lecture 
is one that should be of much interest to every man 
and woman, married or single, and, may I say, child, 
that knows enough not to reach an arm across a 
breakfast table for a plate of doughnuts or a pan of 
baked beans. I am not here to-night to talk woman's 
rights, or woman's suffrage, but to speak upon a 
subject quite as near to your heart of hearts, and 
that is — matrimony. 

I don't know whether the fellow that invented 
the word is living, or not, but if he was I'd be one 
of the first to shake hands with him, because, in 
my opinion, he struck the right spot. 

In the first place, everyone agrees that it is not 
natural for man or woman to live alone. These 
are my sentiments, publicly expressed, from per- 
sonal observation. Look at a man forty-five or fifty 
years of age, with no mother or sister to look after 
him. He mopes about as though he didn't have a 
friend on earth. He grows sour and morose, and 
when he goes to church, which don't often happen, 
he sits in a rear pew, says the amens where he 
shouldn't, and wipes his nose with a cheap bandana 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 109 

handkerchief. The house where he lives has a grin 
like a skeleton in armor, for the want of paint, and 
the grass in the front yard is four feet high, with 
the rose-bushes smothered out and bearing a single 
sickly bloom at the top, where there ought to be 
a hundred. To see him, you would say that he 
was part and parcel of the apartments that he in- 
habits. When you enter, you are obliged to lift 
your skirts for the dirt. The stove glares at you 
like a phantom, and the ashes beneath it remind 
you of the drippings of Vesuvius. The carpets are 
marvels of junkism, and the window-panes so thick 
with grease and dirt that you couldn't see through 
them with a telescope. When he comes to see you 
he pokes around in the kitchen, and talks and 
laughs over things that happened thirty years ago. 

Now, if there is anything that I despise, it is 
to have a man poking his nose into women's busi- 
ness in the kitchen. Now, I calculate that if the 
critter I've been talking about had the right sort 
of a partner for life such a state of affairs would 
never happen. 

In speaking of women, I cannot disguise the fact 
that I am a woman myself. I claim for her that she 
is the weaker of the two sexes, and is worthy of more 
careful consideration. At a corresponding age, nine 
times out of ten, she is just the opposite of the other 
critter. She is the essence of cleanliness, and to 
enter her abode without wiping your feet would be 
next to sacrilege. She may be a little ancient in 
some respects, but she is kind, gentle, tidy, and her 



110 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

stove is as black and shining as the cat that sleeps 
under it. She is just as careful about her personal 
appearance, and never loses the tact of primping 
her hair and touching up the gray spots about her 
temples with shoe polish — which is nobody's busi- 
ness but her own. 

Now, what I contend is that both of these crit- 
ters would have been better off if they had given 
half the attention to matrimony that they had to 
other things. On the other hand, look at the people 
who have observed the teachings of Scripture, and 
entered into the holy bonds of wedlock. Their name 
is legion, and the fruits of the earth are theirs to 
enjoy forever. Of course, there are many exceptions 
to the rule, but the system is not to be disclaimed 
because some girl sees the wrong fellow in a brook, 
or another one weds a pair of blue eyes, or a set of 
teeth that never grew in a person's head. I have 
many competitors — people who advance ideas very 
different from my own — ^but they are usually of that 
class w^hose finger-nails need pruning, or have been 
crossed in their affections. 

The secret of success in matrimony is not alone 
to be wedded, but to be mated. The necessary quali- 
ties are honesty, consistency, and congeniality — a 
strong pull, a long pull, and a pull together. 

I am not married myself, as the most of you know, 
but I do not hesitate to stand up for matrimony in 
my opinion, and as long as I have Jane Cauliflower 
and the Banguptown Free Press on my side, I will 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. Ill 

assert its rights, and run the machine to the ends 
of the earth. 



THE GIEL TRAMP. 

Hey, boys, a hand, please, to help me on my way ! 
I'm down at the heels, footsore, hungry, you say? 
In want? Yes, rather. You see, Vye struck hard 

times. 
With no nickel to jingle to the clink of dimes. 
Don't laugh. I'm hardened, and don't give a whack. 
'Tis water that's spilled on a duckling's back. 
I've something to tell you of an up-to-date scamp. 
Then, maybe, you'll have pity on a poor girl tramp. 

Don't stand in the sun ! You're melted? 'Tis noth- 
ing to me. 
Come here, in the shade of this time-worn tree, 
And listen to one who a story might tell 
That would curdle the blood of the imps of hell. 
One of your kind, in the image of God, 
Whose homage I paid, whose blistering rod 
Dealt scourges and flames to life's ebbing lamp — 
Fell crushed at his feet, the wretched girl tramp. 

In the maddening whirl of that Gotham of sin, 
'Mid splendor and pleasure, confusion and din^ 



112 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Alone, and unheeded^ the tempter came soon, 
The herald and far-reaching mandate of doom. 
Dishonored ! Don't jeer ! 'Tis bnt human to fall. 
Our strength is in God, the Master of all! 
'Twas the lures and the wiles, not the pure guinea 

stamp; 
The heart-throes of despair of the lost girl tramp. 

Deserted ! Don't turn away ! I saw him that night, 
Another one, too; but, boys, I'll set it right. 
As God is above me, his footsteps I'll trace, 
Till Death shall receive me in his icy embrace. 
A coin ! Thank you. I'm tiresome, I know, 
But the life that now courses will soon cease to flow. 
^Tis the way of the world. Your senses would cramp 
With the tale, so oft told, of the lone girl tramp. 

Now, boys, don't let a poor creature down hard. 

Make the queen of jour hearts ever your trump- 
card. 

As you have fair sisters, pray do not deface 

Their beauty and love with the siren's false grace ! 

Eemember the wreck you beheld on the way, 

And the smile of sweet future gleam on you alway. 

Then, with forked flash, where the wild steeds 
champ. 

Fled the fleet form of the strange girl tramp. 

The storm of the night had now drifted afar. 
And the sunlight of day gleamed like a bright star. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 113 

In the doorway of the little old church on the hill 
A small huddled form sat upright and still, 
Rigid, and cold as the heavy, dull clod, 
With a smile on her face, upturned to her God. 
Safe, and at rest from the chill and the damp, 
Reposed, on that morn, the dead girl tramp. 



THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT, 

One night in September, 

The moon at its full, 
There came to our household 

A strange-looking cull. 
His mouth it was puckered, 

His eyes they were blue. 
With a nose that resembled 

A small billiard-cue. 
His cheeks they were rounded, 

As red as a rose; 
His arms they were dimpled, 

As well as his toes. 
He yelled with a vengeance. 

And clutched at the spouse, 
The bald-headed tyrant 

That came to our house. 



114 HUTCHINSON^S RECITATIONS, 

The longer he stayed 

The bolder he got, 
Till Billy got savage, 

And yelled, ^^Tommy rot!" 
And grabbed at the butter 

Eolled under his jaw, 
To choke him to silence, 

And read him the law. 
Then mamma got frightened, 

And said, ^^It's too bad !" 
Yelled out to the tyrant; 

The tyrant yelled, "Dad !" 
Young Billy was under^ — 

A little wee mouse — 
The bald-headed tyrant 

That came to our house. 



To mamma's great pleasure, 

And Billy's surprise. 
His head it grew bigger, 

And brighter his eyes, 
Though mamma, each morning. 

Gave it a rub 
You'd think would have polished 

An old cedar tub. 
The folks didn't worry 

If the hair didn't sprout, 
For Johnny got bolder, 

More rugged and stout, 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 115 

And ruled with a rattle, 

Togged in a frilled blouse — 
The bald-headed tyrant 

That came to our house. 

Little Billy's blue nose 

Was just out of joint, 
By Johnny outwitted 

At every point. 
To the yard and the street 

He scampered away, 
"With romping dog, Towser, 

And urchins, to play. 
He didn't care more 

For Johnny's red pug. 
Tootsy-wootsy, my darling. 

Or mamma's warm hug. 
He could have all his playthings, 

He was nix come a rouse, 
The bald-headed tyrant 

That came to our house. 



DR. QUACK. 

In a dingy room, of a dingy town, 
Sat Dr. Quack, in his office gown. 
Above him, about him, on every side. 
Were fruits of his labor and pride. 



116 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Literature he scattered everywliere, 
With bombs of curatives filled the air; 
And every village^ and town, as well, 
Had something of Dr. Quack to tell. 

His wonderful cure he puffed to the sky. 
Strangest of all, that people should die, 
When, for a coin, though its ring were bad, 
Such life-giving mixture might be had. 
Under his care came an old woman now. 
With shuffling gait and fevered brow. 
He eyed her up, and he eyed her down, 
And knew at a glance her name was Brown. 

He looked at her tongue, looked at her eye, 
Knew 'twas a case, yet heaved not a sigh ; 
Thumbed her pulse, her temperature took, 
Wrote her full name in his musty old book. 
Then said, as he sat upright in his chair, 
"Your liver, good woman, is thin as air. 
YouVe come in time. Go home in delight; 
A draught of my balm will set you to right.'^ 



A youth, of sweet fortune, now entered in; \ 
He sighed like a furnace, spoke with a grin. 
The doctor gasped. Said he tenderly, 
"There's little to work on, that I can see. 
You've struck the right place — ^your good fortune; 
An hour later death would have been your portion. 
Your only hope in this world of strife 
Is a bottle of my Balm, of Life.'' 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 117 

A wag came in, who wagged upon a peg ; 
In point of fact, he wore a wooden leg. 
"Doctor/' said he^ "I've had a fall. 
I'm so lame I can hardly walk at all/' 
The man of drugs and bottles then said, slow, 
"Come right along. Here's a pretty go ! 
I see, my friend, you seem to walk on eggs. 
My balm's the only cure for wooden legs." 



ffOE JEFFERSON, THE BED-POST. 
3. Minstrel Sketch, for Interlocutor and End Men. 

Interlocutor — Bones, I want to ask you a ques- 
tion. 

Bones — ^What's de trubble, now? 

Interlocutor — I understand that you and Tamba 
had a quarrel in a room of this theater to-night. 

Bones — ^Who tol' yo' dat? 

Interlocutor — No matter. Is it so? 

Bones — I 'spect it is. Boss. 

Interlocutor — You should not quarrel with Tam- 
bo. He is an inoffensive man. 

Bones — ^What kin' o' man did yo' say, Boss? 

Interlocutor— Ino&en^ive. 

Bones — He wasn't on de fence. 

Interlocutor— What were you quarreling with 
him about? 



'118 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Bones — I wasn't quar'lin' wid him; he was 
quar'lin' wid me. 

Tambo — Dat's a lie! 

Bones (Rising with Tambo) — Yo' mean ter say 
Hie? 

Interlocutor {rising) — Be seated, gentlemen. 
{All seated.) Perhaps you will tell me the cause of 
the trouble^ Tambo. 

Tambo — He said I hed a black eye. 

Bones — No, I didn't, Boss! 

Interlocutor — What did yon say? 

Bones — I said he hed a red eye. 

Tambo — It's all de same. 

Interlocutor — How did you get it, Tambo? 

Bones — I didn't do it. 

Interlocutor — To save yourself further annoy- 
ance, Tambo, you had better explain this matter at 
once. 

Tambo — I'll tell yer. Boss. You see, I was on de 
street de odder day. 

Interlocutor — Broadway, I suppose? 

Tambo — Yes, sah. I was suddinly 'costed by a 
gen'man dat I hed not seen fo' twen'y y'ars. 

Interlocutor — Indeed ! You knew each other af- 
ter so long a time? 

Tambo — Dat so. Who yo' t'ink de man was, Boss? 

Interlocutor — I could not say. 

Tambo — Joe Jefferson ! 

Interlocutor— Soe Jefferson ! 

Bones {rising) — Dat's a whopper! Eb'ryboddy 
knows dat Joe Jefferson's daid long ago. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. U9 

Tamho {rising) — Who's tellin' dis story? 

Interlocutor ( rising ) — Be seated, gentlemeiL 
(All seated.) Go on, Tambo. 

Tarnho — Gun-barrel. 

Interlocutor — Yes. 

Tam'bo — Long, white ha'r an' b'ard. 

Interlocutor — Yes. 

Tam'bo — Eb'ry-day clo's. 

Interlocutor — Yes, I see; Joe Jefferson as Eip 
Van Winkle. 

Tambo — Dat's him. 

Interlocutor — What did he say to you? 

Tambo — Hello, Sebastepool ! 

5on65— Ha ! ha ! ha ! Dat's good ! Sebastepool ! 

Interlocutor — Never mind him, Tambo. What 
did he say next? 

Tambo — Let's take a drink. 

Interlocutor — You went, of course? 

Tambo — I did, Boss. 

Bones — You bet he did. 

Interlocutor — What happened after that? 

Tam'bo — We went inter de fust s'loon an' sot 
down at de tabul. Joe called fur a schooner, an' so 
did I. He drank de beer an' began to disappear, 
like a spook. I made a grab fur him. 

Interlocutor — Yes, yes! You made a grab for 
him 

Tambo — I was up 'gainst it. 

Interlocutor — Against it — what? 

Tambo — De bed-post 



120 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

THE P. O. CANARY. 

Extract from a Speech Delivered hy Jimmy Farley. 

De latest f ing out, in my Opinion, in de shape o' 
boids, is de P. O. canary. In de first place, dis boid 
is not foun^ in eny seed store, or in eny place where 
dey sell boids fur a livin^ Yer can^t fin' any pre- 
scripshun of it, neider, in eny of dem high-fangled 
books on boidology, or eny other 'ology. 

The P. O. canary is a cross 'tween a crane an^ a 
carrier-pidgin. A crane, 'cause it has long legs, 
long wings, a short body, an' makes a bizness of 
walkin' 'stead of flyin'. A carrier-pidgin, 'cause it 
carries messages, an' says nuttin' 'bout it. It is 
diff'rent frum most boids, 'cause its crop is under 
its wing. It has two eyes, a stout beak, an' a mout' 
under it 'stead of on top. Sometimes it has a top- 
knot, an' sometimes it don't. It all depends wheth- 
er it uses Babbitt's soap or cold cream. 

De P. O. canary don't build its own nest; it gets 
some odder boid ter build it for it. It flocks three 
times a day, an' pairs off ter suit de convenience of 
odder boids. 

De P. O. canary is de best known bold in de city, 
'cause he don't many eny mistakes, an' brings ev'ry- 
body messages. It has a guv'ment boat wid Uncle 
Sam, an' gets dere in all sorts of weather. 

One of de bes' t'ings 'bout de P. O. canary is its 
song. It always sings 'fore it delivers its message, 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 121 

an' if yer at de top of de house, or at de bottom, yer 
supposed to get dare in time, or de canary gets off 
his perch, an' is gone. Generally, nobody waits w'en 
it sings, 'cause ev'rybody is lookin' fur it, an' makes 
a diye to get what b'longs to 'em. 

If de shoe fits de boid dat I hev bin talkin' 'bout, 
I hope dat it will wear it, an' bring many prize 
packages to de people dat is lookin' fur 'em. 



HOW THE DRUMMER ENJOYED HIS FIRST 

RABBIT. 

The landlord of the little country hotel had just 
opened his doors to his customers, in the early morn- 
ing, when he was confronted by a large man, bearing 
a heavy valise. The landlord recognized in the new- 
comer at once one of his monthly visitors, a drum- 
mer from the city of New York. 

After a hearty greeting the drummer threw his 
valise in a chair, and regaled himself at the bar, to 
his evident satisfaction. He was fat, good-natured, 
and, like most commercial travelers, brimful of 
jokes and funny stories. He had visited this sec- 
tion for a number of years, in the interest of a 
hosiery firm. 

The landlord himself was not above cracking a 
joke, or telling a laughable story^ his love for this 



122 HUTCHINSON'S BECITATIONS, 

species of amusement being so great with him at 
times that he resorted to jokes of a practical nature, 
much to the injury of his business. 

The weather being extremely cold, and the ground 
being lightly covered with snow, the conversation 
finally ceased between the two men rather abruptly, 
perhaps, on the subject of game in the vicinity, and 
rabbits in particular. The drummer had manifest- 
ed such a dislike for the creatures, which he called 
vermin, that the landlord was somewhat vexed, as 
he expected to have stewed rabbit that very day 
for dinner, and his ardor for a tempting dish for his 
boarder had been exceedingly lessened. It was a 
relief to him that morning when the burly form; 
of the drummer disappeared through the doorway. 

There were a half dozen hungry individuals 
crowded around the dinner table when the fat drum- 
mer came in for his dinner. A savory dish was 
brought on by the landlady, who was considered 
one of the finest cooks in the county. All eyes were 
immediately fixed upon her, and there was an imme- 
diate offering of plates for a share of the tempting 
morsels. The drummer, on being informed that the 
dish was rabbit stew, turned away in positive dis^ 
gust. He could not, however, help remarking the 
manner in which the other boarders enjoyed the 
dish and looked at the empty platter with pitiful 
faces. The savory odor from it he also thought was 
agreeable. 

To the evident surprise of all present, the follow- 
ing day a still larger dish of rabbit was brought on, 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 123 

and, to tlie still greater surprise of all, the drum- 
mer surrendered his plate to be partly filled with 
the food. He ate very sparingly at first, but soon 
redoubled his efforts, and in a short time there was 
not a vestige remaining upon his plate. 

He looked wistfully at the remaining portion 
upon the large platter, and there was a roar of 
laughter from all when he helped himself to an- 
other supply of the stewed rabbit. 

At this moment a large gray cat walked leisurely 
into the room. All eyes were immediately fixed 
upon it. 

"I would not take twenty-five dollars of any man's 
money for that cat,'' said the landlord, with a seri- 
ous expression on his face. "He is not only the 
largest cat in the county, but by far the best hunter. 
This rabbit that you are eating to-day for dinner 
is the second one that he has caught and brought in 
in two days.'' 

The fat drummer looked at the speaker with va- 
cant eyes and open mouth. Without a word, he 
rose quickly from the table, and, amidst a volley 
of merriment, bolted from the room. 

The landlord, perhaps, laughed the loudest of all, 
and by his wink and knowing look they all knew 
that it was another one of his jokes, and that he 
was simply, as the saying is, "playing it on the 
drummer.'^ 



124 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS. 

PADDY MILES, FEOM CORK. 

A One-Man Character Sketch. 

Cries of ^^ Paddy Miles ^ from CorhT without. En- 
ter Mr. Miles, He has a placard pinned on his hack^ 
with the wordSy ^^Paddy Miles/^ 

Paddy (looking off^ and brandishing his stick) — 
Hoodlums! Gutter-snoipes ! Cum on, now! I'll 
guv yees all the Paddy Miles yees want, wid tlie 
weight of me sthick on the broad av yer backs! 
(Coming down.) Vm new landed. Shure, it's glad 
I am I've left the ould hulk bahind me. I landed 
at a place thay call Castle Ga'den. Castle Ga'den, 
is it? Shure, it wuz loike Tim Murphy's thatch in 
a fog. The robbers! The robbers! Thay wint 
t'rough me ould box as though it wor their own 
property. 

Not havin' onythin' to do, I wint down to the 
Bat'ry to hov a luk at the guns an' fortificashuns, 
but divil a gun or fortificashun 'bout the place at 
all, at all. 

I laid down on a bit av binch ter hov a bit av a 
slape, whin a purty bye they call a cop wanted ter 
run me in fur disturbin' the pace. He directed 
the way wid the ind of his sthick, an' I followed. 

In walkin' up the strate I saw a foine-lukin' gin- 
tlemon standin' on the earner, wid brass buttons 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 125 

over him, an' a hat on his hed thot luked loike a 
sugar skoop. 

*^The top av the marnin' ter yees," sez I. 

^What do yees want?'' sez he. ^Thwat are yees 
lukin' fur?" 

^^I'm lukin' fur Noo Yark/' sez I. 

^^Folly yer nose/' sez he. 

*^I can't^ it's toid on/' sez I. 

^^Lave yer thracks," sez he. 

^^I'll hov yer job on the force," sez I. 

Wid thot he kem at me wid his sthick. 

"Yer Oirish, I know, but yees can't bate me,'^ 
sez I. 

He wint fur his sthick in a twinklin', an' I wint 
fur the earner. I hoven't seen the purty bye since. 

The next place I saw wuz Broadway, I t'ink they 
call it. Shure, thay wor foine ladies an' gintlemin. 
Ev'rybody wuz laughin', an' fur the loife av me I 
didn't know phwat thay wor laughin' at. Phwat 
wid the Mr. Miles here, and the Mr. Miles there, 
an' the hand-shakin's here, an' the hand-shakin's 
there, it's done up entoirely, so I am. 

By and by me oyes began to wather fur the soign 
I saw on the strata I pinched me arrum to b'lave 
me sinsis. By the poker! I wuz in luck at last! 
^^John Miles, millinery!" I wint in at the soide- 
door. Shure, there wuz anither big soign insoide, 
on the wall : "John Miles, hats and bonnets, three 
stories high. Take the elevator." Now, phwat the 
divil is an elevator? t'inks I. Shure, I niver saw 
an elevator in my loife. There wuz a broom in 



126 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

the earner. That must be the elevator, sez I to 
mesilf. I tnk hould av it, whin an ould gintleman 
tuk hould av me. 

"Aha ! I've caught yees, hov I ? It's sthalin' yees 
are!'' sez he, shakin' his fist at me. 

"It's not fur the loikes av yees to be chargin' me 
wid sthalin' ! I'm lukin' fur Mr. Miles. Shure, he's 
a forty-second cousin av moine." 

"Take the elevator," sez he, shovin' me inter a 
little box, an' closin' the dhure afther him, wid 
himsilf insoide. The t'ing began to move, an' I be- 
gan to squirm; an' the more the thing moved the 
more I squirmed, till I fought my brogues wor 
playin' tag wid me stummick. Shure, it's glad I 
wor whin the elevator got to the top. 

"Is Mr. Miles at home?" sez I to a gintleman in 
a little box. 

"I'm sorry to say he is not, Mr. Miles," sez he, 
wid a roar av laughter. 

"How did yees know me name wuz Miles?" sez I. 

"Yer soign tould me," sez he, wid anither laugh. 

"Whin will he be back?" sez I. 

"I don't know," sez he. "It all depinds how 
long the gas houlds out. He has gone on a b'loon 
ascinshun to Coney Island." 

"Is it New Yark gas?" sez I. 

"It is/' sez he. 

"He'll be back all roight. I'll be back in fifteen 
minits." 

With thim words in me mout', I turned away. 

"Take the elevator," sez he. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 127 

^^Not much/' sez I. "IVe had enuff elevators. 
I'll be goin' down by the back way.'' 

Wid thot, I made a rush to the ither ind av the 
sture, wid them all scramin' wid laughter at me. 
There wuz an illegant pair av iron stairs ladin' 
down to the bottom, forninst me. I jumped on to 
thim, an' wuz goin' down all roight, whin wan av 
the gintlemin grabbed me by the collar. 

^^Fur God's sake, man! Where are yees goin'? 
Yer on the f oire-eshcape !" 

"The f oire-eshcape!" yelled I. 

"Yis ! Quick, fur yer loife !" he scramed. 

Wid thot he dragged me out on the flure, from 
the danger av bein' burned aloive. (Cries of ^^ Pad- 
dy Miles r^ without. ) Thim bad byes ag'in. ( Going 
up.) Cum insoide an' call me names, yees durty 
rag'mufflns! [Throws off his coat.) I'll t'ach 
yees a thrick wurth two av thot. Well, good-bye 
ter yees, if yees call that goin'. I fought yees would 
t'ink better av it. (Picks up his coat^ and sees pla- 
card pinned on it.) Shure, an' shure, it's a voile 
thrick thay're playin' on me, af ther all. ( Crushes 
placard in his hands and throws his coat over his 
arm.) I'll away to the boat, an' if I foind the 
durty spalpeen thot pinned the tag on me back, I'll 
make him ate the turf my fate hov trod, or me name 
ain't Paddy Miles, from Cark. 



128 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

LUNKENHEIMER AND HIS DOG. 

My name vos Yuccup Lunkenheimer. I keeps von 
hot frankfort factory py der sthreet, town here; 
Yaw, dot- vos so. I make dem fur a livin' py my 
gustomers, und eadt dem fur a livin' py meinseluf. 

Ve haf von leetle tog, vot ve call Snyter. He vos 
sootch a goot leetle feller dot der gals vos al teat 
in loaf mit him, und call him shweet names, such 
as dose : honey, sugar blums, und kiss me quicker, 
und say he look so mootch like him's fadder. Ve 
loaf him, too, pecause he vos so goot. 

He vouldn't harm a mouse, but ven he got madt 
he vould eadt up a tog ein, swi, dri, swansig dimes 
so pig as himseluf. He vould schleep at mine pack 
all der nighd, und chew oop der flies dot boddered 
me; und ven I vent oudt py der streedt he vould 
foller so glose py mine heels dot I valk on him. I 
vould not dake me dwenty-fife tollar of eny man^s 
mooney fur dot tog Snyter. 

Veil, poor feller, he vos gone teat von tay. He 
vos got a pone sthuck fasdt in him's throat, dot 
you couldn't pull him oudt. He vent under ter 
sthove und kicked himseluf to teth. 

Ve hadt hot frankforts shust der same der nexd 
tay. Ve didn't bury der poor feller; ve hadt him 
stuffed. Poor, poor Snyter ! He vos so goot ! 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 129 



DESERTED. 

Half hidden, she stood in the twilight calm, 

Sadly dreaming of days long gone; 
For her seared heart earth possessed not a charm 

Or joy that to mortals belong. 

Eagerly she strained her gaze o'er the vale, 
Whilst on her pale cheek stood a tear. 

And her ashen lips quivered forth the sad tale 
Of one, though inconstant, yet dear, 

'Tis fully a year since her heart felt the pang 

That proved to her innocent mind 
That love may be fickle, though truthful 'tis sang. 

And lovers prove likewise unkind. 

Deserted! How sad and heart-rending the word! 

Yet sadder the object of woe, 
And wider and deeper* her story is heard, 

Yet never a frown or a- blow* 

And some will say that her mind is diseased ; 

A ^^foolish young maiden," quoth they. 
Yet little she'll reck, if all are displeased, 

If her lover appear on the way. 

God pity this maid, and ease her sad heart 
Of the grief and the woe that there abide. 

Else over her grave her tombstone impart^, 
She loved, she faded, and died. 



130 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

MEG MERRILIES. 

"An Adaptation from ^^Guy Mannering/^ 

Gipsies! Strike not, at your peril! Children, 
obey me, and depart! Yes, I am Meg Merrilies, 
queen of the gipsies, witch of the dell! Born to 
raise the house of Ellen Gowan from its ruins! 

They call me mad, but I am not mad. I have been 
imprisoned for mad, scourged for mad, banished 
for mad, yet mad — I am not ! I do not want your 
trash, Lucy Mannering. Hence ! Get to your home 
in safety! Who goes* there? Halt! and stand fast, 
or you shall live to curse the hour that a limb of 
you hangs together. Go and tell Colonel Manner- 
ing that if ever he owed a. debt to the house of Ellen 
Gowan, and hopes to» see ifc prosper, to come in- 
stantly, armed, and attended, as well, to* the glen 
below the Tower of Derncleuh. Bid him fail not, 
on his life. You know the spot. There Abel Samp- 
son blazed my heart this many a day, and there, 
beneath the willow that hung its garlands over the 
brook, I sat and sang to Harry Bertram the songs 
of the old time. That tree is withered now, never 
to be green again, and old Meg Merrilies will never 
sing her blythe songs more. 

I charge you, Abel Sampson, when the heir shall 
have his own, tell him not to forget Meg Merrilies, 
but to build up the old wall in the glen for her sake, 
that those who live there may be so good that they 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 131 

will have no fear of the beings of the other world ; 
for if ever the good come back among the living, 
I shall be seen in that glen many a night when 
these crazed bones are whitened in the moldering 
grave ! To your work ! Begone ! 

Now, then, to perform the work of fate. The mo- 
ment is near at hand when all shall behold 

That Bertram's right, and Bertram's might 
Meet on Ellen Gowan's height. 



THE SUMMER SHOWER. 

Across the sky 

The dark clouds fly, 
While from the mighty realms on high 

A noise of fear, 

Upon the ear, 
Gives warning that tha storm is near. 

The drooping trees 

Bend to the breeze, 
As though another life did seize; 

And down the vale 

The vapors sail 
Before the gentle, freshening gale. 



132 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

The summer rain, 

O'er mount and plain, 
With pattering footsteps comes again ; 

Drenching like lead 

The clover bed. 
Driving the cattle in the shed. 

The farmer, hale, 

With shout and wail. 
Dashes his horses down the vale, 

Eager to pour 

His golden store 
In safety on the old barn floor. 

The children three. 

Beneath the tree, 
Shout in gay chorus, merrily : 

We do you pray 

Now go away, 
And come to us some other day. 

O'er mazy rift 

The dark clouds lift. 
Till all the jagged mountain cliff, 

In bright array 

Of gorgeous day, 
In one continuous splendor lay. 

So Nature's wile. 
With frown and smile, 
Her earthly subjects does beguile ; 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 133 

And e'er recall 
That God o'er all, 
Who noteth e'en the sparrow's fall. 



OUE VALIANT DEAD. 

Honored the day our nation hath at heart 
For mourning to her dead now set apart; 
Those valiant sons, who, at our country's call, 
Gave up their lives and sacrificed their all. 
Battling for the right upon the crimson field. 
Till death compelled the fearless heart to yield. 
Their cause was ours, and the debt we owe 
Our sincere hearts and humble offerings show. 
Green be their graves, with floral beauties strown, 
Symbols of love, sweet, treasured gifts of home. 
Wherever Freedom holds her mighty sway, 
Let patriot hearts commemorate the day. 



THE LAND OF BURNS. 

No matter where our birth may be, 
In north or southern clime. 

Still recollections fond shall live 
In the land of Old Lang Syne. 



134 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Pair Scotia's flowery hills and dales, 
With Nature's dew-drops bright. 

E'er fill our minds with pleasant thoughtsi, 
Our hearts with pure delight. 

The hawthorn sweet, the bluebells, too, 

The heather of her hills; 
The rugged steeps, the bonny shades, 

Her shining, rushing rills. 

Are ever pictures, fresh and fair, 

That shine beyond the sea; 
'Tis Caledonia's favored land — 

The land of poetry. 

No marvel that her brawny sonsi 

In strength and valor grew. 
And from her tow'ring peaks and vales 

Proud inspirations drew. 

It tells of Wallace, and of Bruce, 

Of royalty and power. 
Of royal hosts and clansmen bold, 

And she of queenly dower. 

It tells of statesmen bold of thought, 

With strength of iron will ; 
Of Nature's bards of high degree, 

And one the earth to till. 

All hail to thee, fair Scotia's bard! 

The world shall know thy worth 
When man to man together stand 

To honor now thy birth. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 135 



POMPEY, THE SLAVE. 

When the autumn leaves were falling, 

When all Nature seemed forlorn, 
Lowly in his little cabin 

Pompey stretched his aged form; 
Stretched himself upon his pallet, 

In the cheerless, dying day, 
Waiting patiently the moment 

When his life should ebb away. 

Bent with age, and very feeble. 

Helpless as a child was he. 
And his life was full of sadness; 

Death alone could set him free. 
He had been a faithful servant. 

And in bondage nursed his woe, 
Whilst the scars upon his shoulders 

Told the cruel slaver's blow. 

In the cotton-fields of Georgia 

He had toiled his years away; 
There his kindred all had perished. 

None but Pompey saw the day 
When the monster, Slavery, vanquished, 

And the gallant, martial tread 
Of the boys that bore the standard 

Crushed to earth the viper's head. 



136 HUTCHINSON'S EECITATIONS, 

"Ah! ^Tis well dat I remember/' 

He exclaimed, with moistened eye, 
"When de shackles still were on us, 

And was heard de fearful cry 
Of de bloodhounds in de meadows, 

Chasing down some flyin' form. 
An' de smoke hung in de heabens 

Like some awful comin' storm. 

"Den we prayed both night an' mornin', 

Prayed as ne'er we prayed before, 
Dat de wrong t'ings might be righted 

And each day would peace restore. 
Hark!" he cried, with deep emotion, 

Straining every nerve to rise, 
"Don't you hear dem in de distance? 

Don't you hear dar joyous cries? 

"Bress de Lord ! De Flag am comin', 

See de rockets in de sky ! 
Hear de drums an' fifes a-goin'. 

An' de shouts dat peal on high ! 
Hallelujah ! sing de people, 

Hallelujah ! for de band, 
Hallelujah ! for de General 

Marchin' through ole Georgia land ! 

"T'ank de Lord ! De Flag am comin' ! 

De good oP Flag we long to see! 
Hear de muskets an' de cannon — 

All de colored people free ! 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 137 

Bress de Lord for all His goodness ! 

Massa Lincoln, kind an' true! 
Bress de Country! Bress de People! 

An' de gallant Boys in Blue !'' 

His voice was choked, he said no more; 

His work was almost over, 
For closely by his bedside now 

The Angel Death did hover. 
Suddenly he glanced about him. 

And each friendly hand he pressed; 
Then, with fervent looks of parting, 

Pompey calmly sank to rest. 



WALULU AND OLITA. 

^An Indian Love-Story. 

Beside a little mound. 
Far in the somber wood, 

With shattered crest and plume, 
A noble warrior stood. 

As stately as the pine, 

A melancholy form, 
Whose woe was like the calm 

That comes before the storm. 



138 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS^ 

A cMeftain of the tribe — 
Walulu, called by name — 

,The last of five who died — 
Brothers — in battle slain. 

He mutters low and sad, 
And rends his flowing hair; 

He spurns the loamy earth, 
And waileth in despair : 

Oh, give me back the star 
The world has ta^en away ! 

Olita, star of night. 
Sunbeam of the day ! 

Come with your dulcet voice. 
Come with your beaming eye; 

Entrance your soul with mine, 
Olita, then I die! 

I heard a voice of death. 
It whispered at the door; 

I hear it now, as then : 
Olita is no more. 

I hear it in my dreams, 

I hear it day by day; 
I hear it in the rills 

That down the mountains play, 

I see her at the tryst, 

She whispers love to me; 

I see her on the lake. 

She waves her hand to me. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 139 

I hear her fawn-like steps 

Among the fallen leaves; 
I start, as though in fear — 

Walulu scarcely breathes, 

'Twas nothing but the wind, 

A sigh among the trees, 
A spirit of the mind 

That seemed my blood to freeza 

Dark is the forest nook, 

And low the branches lave ; 
And slender plants that bend. 

That kiss Olita's grave ! 

Within the misty vale 

The white man rears his home, 
And through the trackless woods 

The pale-face hunters roam. 

The panther screams no more. 

The bear and wolf have fled. 
The moose and elk are gone, 

The Redman's hope is dead. 

His council-fires are out. 

Deserted at the dawn. 
Toward the setting sun 

My people all are gone. 

I hear their mournful dirge; 

They beckon from afar, 
Deep in the tangled wood, 

Like phantom forms of war. 



140 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Why stay I here so long? 

Why linger near this spot? 
Why chant my mournful strain? 

Olita hears me not ! 



A noise rings in my ear, 

My heart ne'er gave it place : 

The white man's shout of joy — 
The death-knell of my race! 

With bold, defiant look 

He plunged into the wood ; 

Like frighted deer he sped, 
Till 'mong his braves he stood. 

The conflict waged that day, 
A hundred strewed the vale, 

And one, a chieftain, fell. 
Oh, mark yon bloody trail ! 

He dragged his wounded limbs 
From off the sanguine field. 

Upon his wild love's grave 
His ebbing life to yield. 

There, in the early mora, 
Upon an Indian mound, 

Flung fearlessly in death, 
Walulu's form was found. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 141 

The warrior and tlie maid 

Sleep calmly, side by side, 
His life a sacrifice; 

For love Walulu died. 



THE THREE LITTLE MADCAPS. 

Li Eallowe'en Selection. 

Three^little madcaps, one dark, stormy night, 
Through the lone byways took their runaway flight. 
They stopped not for walls, brooks, fences, or stones, 
But over them all they rattled their bones. 
Far down the steep hill the voices rang out, 
Of the grim little bogies, now hustling about : 
The prattle of Wine, the clatter of Glee, 
And the horrible laugh of Revelry. 

Down by the sheds and mud-holes they fly, 
Till Old Penny Bridge the young rascals spy. 
"Aha !" yelled they all, in their fiendish delight, 
"Here's a chance for some fun on this gruesome old 

night !'' 
To the windlass they flew, and turned with a will. 
It swayed and it splashed, like a huge water-mill. 
Like grim fiends they danced, and tugged at the 

draw. 
Till the dark, yawning chasm before them they saw. 



142 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Now huddled together, in silence they lay 
Till slow, tottering footsteps stumbled over the way. 
Through the dark night came a wretched old crone, 
Shrieking her wrongs and heart-sorrows alone. 
"Oho!'^ cried they all, "we're glad that she came. 
There^s no better place for this wretched old dame." 
They seized her, and whirled her, with horrible din, 
And, despite her wild cries, they soused her in. 

Next came a drunkard, with staggering gait. 

Who even the stones did soundly berate. 

"By the shades!" they all yelled, "'tis a wretched 

old wight! 
We'll give him a lesson for going home tight!" 
His struggles were useless, for, three against one, 
They lit on hrs head with the weight of a ton — 
In the. water he shunned — "Perhaps he can swim. 
But whether or not, may the devil take him!" 

The bridgeman, who lived just at the wayside. 
Appeared with his cudgel, the brawlers to chide. 
He came with a bound, fell in, with a groan, 
And went to the bottom with the weight of a stone. 
As he scrambles out at the side of the wall. 
These distant shouts on his ear-drums fall : 
The clatter of Wine, the prattle of Glee, 
And the horrible laugh of Kevelry ! 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 143 



THE POOR WORKINGMAN. 

In a cot on the hillside, where the battered old door 
Invites the chill winds from o'er the ice-covered 

moor, 
And wild, whirling snow-blasts, sweeping upward 

and on, 
'Neath the low-hanging roof sing their lullaby song. 
'Tis lone, mean, and wretched, yet rich in its way. 
For, bright as a palace, gleams its light of the day; 
And dear to his heart-strings as life's fitful span, 
Is the cot of the toiler, the poor workingman. 

From the frowns of the world, its turmoil and din, 
At the close of the day he finds comfort within. 
There, safe from the storm, with plenty in store 
By the sweat of his brow, drives the wolf from his; 

door. 
Though his form may be shrunken, and grimed with 

the clod. 
With precepts of wisdom he stands upright with 

God, 
With peace and contentment looking upward to 

scan 
The home that's provided the poor workingman. 

With the false and pretentious of life, and their 

glare, 
He builds not his castle to dwell in the air. 



144 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

But witli blows, hard and sound, from morning till 

night, 
In the broad field of labor finds his task a delight. 
From the rich hall of splendor, where luxury dwells, 
And the wealth of the world like a tidal-wave wells. 
Sad hearts shall grow heavy, and sigh as they scan 
The full dinner-pail of the poor workingman. 

To him, what are riches, that fade as they gleam 
In the depth of the darkness of lifers running 

stream? 
A wealth, to him greater than millions allow — 
The affection of kindred — encircles him now. 
The prince in his palace, the king on his throne. 
Might seek, from his thraldom, his fortune to own ; 
And thousands, bed-ridden, with visages wan, 
Might envy the blessings of the poor workingman ! 



JIMMY FAELEY AND HIS TYPEWEITEE. 

Dare is no kind of machine dat will respond to yer 
ideas as well as de typewriter. In my opinion, it 
don't make much difference wot kind of a machine 
yer get, as long as yer get one. Dey are all good. 
De bad workman always complains of his tools. 
It's de simplest machine to manipulate, 'cause yer 
have only to touch de button, an' de job is done 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 145 

quicker^!! a flasli of 'lectricity. It is so easy, after 
yer have got de practice, dat yer can write a biz- 
ness letter and bet on a horse race at de same time. 
I don't tell it fer de truth, 'cause I got it frum one 
of de boys dat was not a member of de club, an' I 
don't know nuttin' 'bout his verasity. .He said dat 
he knew a feller dat run de machine so much dat 
you c'u'd see a keyboard in his face w'en yer looked 
at him. He was so far gone on de bizness dat he 
used to take it to bed wid him to make de records 
of his dreams. 

De reason dat people don't make good typewriters 
is 'cause dey won't take de trubble to find out de 
workin's of it. In odder words, dey won't practice. 
If yer a beginner, begin at de beginnin' by gettin' 
someone who knows how to give you de fundemen- 
tal princ'ples, then go ahead, and you will soon be 
able to tickle de buttons to yer satisfaction. Some 
of de most prev'lent mistakes on de machine are 
carelessness, too healthy dinners, mixing yer drinks, 
cleaning an' oilin' de machine, pressing de keys 
where you ought to be clipping dem, forgettin' de 
capitals an' de spaces, running too fur ahead of de 
machine wid yer thoughts, clipping de keys w'en 
de bell has called yer down, an' oder t'ings too nu- 
merous to menshun. 

My 'pinion, publicly expressed, is, dat ninety-nine 
times out of a hundred I am in favor of de type- 
writer. De bizness man dat writes his letters by 
hand, 'stead of typewritin' dem, is only givin' away 
his bizness. It helps de man dat ain't a bizness 



146 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

man, too. He will find out, w'en he gits old 'nnff, 
dat de only way to get behind de man who says 
I am his representative, is to drop in a typewritten 
letter fixed up in de right shape. 

De only t'ing dat worries me 'bout de machine is 
dat it says I. O. U. too much for de instalment 
house where I got it. 



HOW Mcpherson otlaherty joined 

THE LODGE. 

My name is Felix McPherson OTlaherty. Oi'm 
a mon av all conthries. Me faither wuz an Oirish- 
mon from Dublin, an' me mither a Scotchwoman 
from the north of Scotland. Oi wuz borrn on boord 
av an English vissel, in Spanish wathers, wid a 
Frinch captain. Me mither wanted me to talk 
Scotch, but me faither bate it out av me wid a 
sthick. Oi hov uncles an' ants in England, Oire- 
land, Scotland, an' cousins by the score in Ameri- 
kay an' Canada. 

Oi follied the say fur a livin', an' whin Oi landed 
in Amerikay, shure the say follied me, an' Oi wuz 
glad to get out av it. 

Oi j'ined the lodge the ither noight, the Indepin- 
dint Min av Amerikay. It wuzn't so indepindint 
fur me, as Oi found out. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 147 

The goat wuz a foine feller, an^ got in his work 
on me fur the furst toime. 

The byes shook han's wid me all roun', an' Oi 
felt loike a f oightin' cock wid his furst spurs. Wan 
av the byes axed me, in a whisper, how Oi loiked it. 
^^Oho V^ sez Oi, pullin' down the corner av me eye. 
"Hist! Don't say a wurd! It's all in me ey^ an' 
Betty Martin.'' 

The wurst av the t'ing wuz the ice-crame. It 
wanted cookin'. It was stiff as a poker. 

The cigars w'udn't go roun'; they were two fur 
foive. 

Oi wuz dyin' fur a shmoke, so Oi wint down to the 
strate. There wuz a feller, shmokin' a seegar, near 
the dhure. 

"Gud avenin'," sez 01. "Thot's a purty clane see- 
gar yees hov got.'' 

"Yer roight," sez he. 

"Is it a Dimmycrat seegar?" axed Oi. 

"Av coorse," sez he, wid a knowin' luk in his eye. 

"Shure," sez Oi, "Oi loike the shmell av it. Where 
did yees get it?" 

"At the furst shop b'low," sez he. "Inquoire av 
the mon at the dhure." 

Wid thot I wint down the strate. There wuz wan 
av thim red divils sthandin' on a bit av a box, so 
hoigh, forninst the dhure. Shure, it's an illigint 
gintlemon he wuz, wid his painted face, his long, 
black hair, an' his foine clothes. By me troth, it 
wor an illegint bunch av seegars he had in his 
han', to be on the strate wid. 



148 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

"Is this the seegar sthore?'' sez Oie 

Divil a wurd did he say, at all, at alL He wor 
grinnin' at me. 

"It's bad manners yees hov, sor. Will yees be 
afther tellin' me if this is the seegar sthore?'' 

He didn't spake, but I fought the red divil 
blinked at me. The blood av ould Oireland wor 
rampant in me veins as I made a grab at the bundle 
av seegars in his han\ By me soul ! it wor a joke 
on me by the man at the ither dhure. They wor 
glued on. 

Oi didn't get the seegar. Whin Oi got back to 
the lodge-room the byes wanted me to take anither 
dagree. "Oh, no, not to-night, me hearties!" sez 
Oi. "It's a dagree too much." 



THE KEYSTONE STATE. 

I was born in Philadelphia, 

That seat of Quaker lore, 
In the year of forty-seven, 

Before the Civil War. 
'Twas there I got my learning, 

iWhate'er got in my pate. 
I've never found a country yet 

Like good old Keystone State. 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. !« 

I have sailed the broad Atlantic, 

Where chops the Carib Sea; 
Have gazed on sunny isles that skirt 

The lands of liberty. 
I have crossed the mild Pacific, 

Passed through the Golden Gate, 
Yet never seen a land so fair 

As good old Keystone State. 

I have crossed the rugged border 

Of my proud native land. 
Have stood among the ranges 

Where gleams the golden sand; 
In western lands, and sunny slope. 

Where grows the palm and date, 
But none to me that seemed so fair 

As good old Keystone State. 

On stern New England^s rocky shore. 

That home of industry, 
Where gates of learning stand ajar 

To welcome in the free; 
My weary footsteps lingered there, 

'Twas there I found my mate. 
Yet never home^ it seemed to me, 

Like good old Keystone State. 

And now my joumey^s at an end. 

My rambling story told; 
Upon those pictures of the past 

The dingy curtain rolled. 



150 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

Yet, gleams of home through shadows^ show 

To me my earthly fate : 
Beneath the sod my feet have trod 

In good old Keystone State! 



SCENE FROM "OUE NAN." 

From the Play of that Name^ hy Bodolphe 
Hutchinson. 

Scene ly Act III — An elegant parlor at the Capi- 
tol. Delmar and Our Nan discovered. Delmar 
seated in arm-chair. 

Delmar — Come here, Nan, and bring your foot- 
stool. I have something to say to you. {l^an brings 
footstool^ and sits beside him.) Several times you 
have expressed a desire to know something more of 
the father you have found, and, in justice to you, 
I feel that you should know all. I will be as brief 
as possible, and not weary you. 

Nan — I never get tired of hearing you talk, pa. 
My mother, too — ^is she living? 

Delmar — I cannot utter the word. 

Nan — Dead! Then I shall never see her in this 
world ! 

Delmar — Not in this world, my child* She was 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 151 

pure and good. Some day, if you are like her, you 
may behold her. 

Nan — Where? 

Delmar — In that haven of eternal bliss above. 

Nan — ^Well, I will try and be good, for yours and 
mother's sake. How old was I when she died? 

Delmar — An infant, scarcely six months old. I 
was a clerk in a large wholesale house in New York. 
By hard work I had amassed the sum of two thou- 
sand dollars, which sum was in one of the savings 
banks of the city. Your mother's death almost 
killed me. I sought a change. My desire was to 
try my luck in the great West. But how? I could 
not take the babe with me. Vainly I endeavored 
to locate someone or place in the great city to 
entrust it. At length the old farm-house at Plun- 
kett's Four Corners flashed upon my mind. It was 
a resolve well taken, for I thought that the child, 
once there, would be well cared for. 

Nan — My mother's home? 

Delmar — Yes. I secured the money at the bank, 
and placed one-half of it in the basket with the 
child, and sped out into the wintry night. In a 
few hours I was at my destination. The snow was 
falling fast. Away I sped, over the country road 
I knew so well, till a flickering light at the old 
farm-house told me that my journey was at an end. 
Beside the door, in a spot sheltered from wind and 
snow, I placed the sleeping babe. Then back again, 
just as the streaks of dawn rushed over the sky. 
^Twas done! I was alone! 



152 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

l^an — Not alone, pa. God watches over all. 

Delmar — Bless you! {She turns away and looks 
downcast.) What are you thinking about? 

Nan — I was thinking it was cruel to leave me in 
that way — a helpless babe. If you had only made 
your wants known to Uncle, I am sure — — 

Delmar — Ah, Nan ! You don't know ! I was a 
despised man, though Penelope clung to me despite 
her brothers' and sisters' remonstrances. We were 
wed against their wishes. We departed. She never 
looked upon them more. They were unjust, and 
God knows I never gave them cause for their abuse. 
I bore no malice, as the sequel has proved. You 
will realize now that there was an excuse for my 
conduct, for I felt that if I should make my wants 
known to the family I should be refused. 

Nan — I am sorry I mentioned it now. I could 
not control my feelings. 

Delmar — Let it pass ! There is nothing of it now, 
Nan. To continue my story : The early morning 
train landed me in New York. Ere nightfall of 
that day I was many miles on my journey to labor 
in the mines. Fortune seemed against me. I strug- 
gled in vain. I suffered untold hardships. Finally 
I prospered — struck a rich vein at last. You un- 
derstand. Nan — ^gold, and lots of it, in the bed-rock. 
Wealth flowed in upon me, for the Red Gulch was 
a wonder. I had ^^made my pile,'' as the miners call 
it, when an irresistible longing for the States in- 
duced me to sell out, which I did, for three million 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 153 

dollars, in government bonds and hard cash, which 
I deposited in Denver banks. 

Nan — Three millions! That's more than a bar- 
relful of money ! 

Delmar — Yes. I came to the States, sought the 
old farm-house at the Four Corners, and engaged 
with Mr. Plunkett as a farm laborer. 

Nan — ^T\^asn't it funny? And to think you were 
my father all the time, and I didn't know it ! Why 
didn't you make yaurself known at once? 

Delmar — Well, for two or three reasons hardly 
worth mentioning. I wanted to be near you — to ad- 
vise and protect you — to know your real character — 
to know that you would be worthy of the splendid 
home that was to* be yours. Besides, this place, 
which the country people dubbed the Capitol, was 
built for me under contract, and I did not want to 
capture my pretty bird until the cage was ready 
to receive her. You understand nowi why I went 
about as John, the laborer? 

Nan — Indeed I do! You know best, and I have 
learned to trust you. 

Delmar — Thank you, my child. 

Nan — You mentioned the Eed Gulch Mine. I've 
heard Tony speak of the same place. 

Delmar — Yes. He was there with me in my pov- 
erty. 

Nan — He said he nursed you when you had the 
fever. 

Delmar — Yes, that is true. 



154 HUTCHINSON'S RECITATIONS, 

^an — That your secret was revealed to him in 
your fits of delirium. 

Delmar {starting to his feet) — Ha! I see it all! 
Thus he gained my secret^ disappeared, post-hast^ 
came here, and sought you! You, once his wife, 
he would be able to dictate his own terms, for well 
he knew" my wealth, the rascal ! He was more de- 
signing and dangerous than I thought. 

Nan — He w^as a relative — — 

Delmar — Nothing of the sort, Nan ! A scapegoat 
and a scoundrel! The son of a noted New York 
gentleman, who educated him for one of the learned 
professions; who died ruined and broken-hearted 
on account of the misdeeds of his son. He was 
known and hated among the miners under the name 
of Slippery Jim ! 

Han — Ha ! ha ! What will Uncle Is say when lie 
knows that? 

Delmar {-firmly) — Let his name rest in oblivion! 
There, Nan, I have told you all. This has been rath- 
er an eventful day. I am tired. I believe I will 
lie down for a few minutes' rest. {Going.) 

Nan — One more question before you go! 

Delmar — Well? 

Nan — I was thinking about my mother, how she 
would have enjoyed it with us. What's the matter! 
Are you ill ! 

Delmar — No. 'Tis nothing — only a little dizzy, 
that is all. 

Nan — Tell me! Did she look anything like your 
little Nan? 



SPEECHES AND DIALOGUES. 15d 

Delmar — The very image of yourself. ( Takes out 
hook from his breast pocket.) There is a miniature 
picture of your mother in this book. She gave it to 
me on her dying-bed. You shall Judge for yourself. 
(Opens hook. A hullet drops upon the stage.) 

Nan (picking up hullet) — ^A leaden bullet! 

Delmar (amazed and trembling) — ^A pistol bul- 
let! The book was here — next my heart. (Run- 
ning over leaveSj and showing the pages perforated. 
The book falls from his hand^ OMd he sinks hack in 
the chair. ) Great heavens ! 

Nan (picking up the hook) — My mother's Bible! 



THE END. 



